


Rumor Has It

by startraveller776



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Romance, Students, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776
Summary: Jane’s recipe for disaster: 1. Get dragged to a party she never wanted to go to. 2. Hide in the wrong bedroom. And voila! A relationship with the school’s resident bad boy that she never wanted.





	1. This Is How It Happened

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic. <strike>I don't know if and when I will finish this story, but I'm putting up what I did write.</strike> I AM NOW WORKING ON COMPLETING THIS STORY. 
> 
> This started from a writing challenge where someone would send me four words I had to include in a drabble. I wrote the first chapter this way (which is why it's short), and continued to have friends send me four words for each chapter. Sadly, I don't recall what each set of words were, but if, after catching up on what I originally completed, you feel inclined to send me four words for a new chapter, leave them with your review!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/187237537@N07/49647730851/in/album-72157713447009958/lightbox/)

Why had Jane let herself be talked into this? 

“Now, where should we start?” Darcy yelled over the earsplitting dance music as she dragged Jane through the ridiculously huge Odinson mansion. Bodies were packed into every nook and cranny, talking, laughing, chasing one another, dancing. All with a red Solo cup in hand. Jane felt like she had inadvertently walked into one of those stupidly inaccurate teen shows on the CW with pretty people and high fashion. 

Apparently the cliché wasn’t that fallacious, after all. Not when you had money. 

“I think,” Darcy continued, “first an illegal beverage, and then we get down and boogie!” 

Jane had no intention of doing either, but she let Darcy lead on anyway. It took several wrong turns before they found the kitchen where a group of boys were shouting “Go! Go! Go!” at some jock doing a keg stand. 

The next couple of hours were a blur of cheap beer (which Jane didn’t drink), dancing with some guy who smelled like pistachios, and ducking out of the way when the football team decided to transform the living-room-turned-dance-floor into a mosh pit. 

This was dumb. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted lay in bed with her laptop and check out the latest images posted on the Hubble website. Where had Darcy disappeared to? Probably some makeout session with Ian, her not-boyfriend. Ugh. 

Jane couldn’t honestly say if she’d been looking for her wayward friend or just some quiet place to escape when she stumbled into the only empty room in this gargantuan place. The walls were lined with book shelves, floor to ceiling. If it weren’t for the king-sized four-poster bed in the center of the room, she would have thought this was the library. She perused the titles—everything from Shakespeare to college-level science texts to the lifespans of Venus Flytraps to cheap sci-fi paperbacks. She pulled out a copy of _The Evolution of Physics_, whistling when she saw that it was a first edition. 

Oh, yeah. She could ride out the party in here. Whoever had this place was her kindred spirit. 

“Do you always go through people’s things without their consent?” 

She squeaked, nearly dropping the book. “I’m sorry. I—” The rest of her apology went dry when her eyes found the other occupant of the room. 

Loki Odinson. The school’s new resident bad boy. 

Logically, she knew that Loki was Thor’s brother—so it would make sense that he would live in the same house—but her brain hadn’t really made the connection until this moment. And her brain was less focused on how siblings worked and more interested in the fact that the brooding, arrogant junior who shared her advanced calculus and physics classes was currently topless. Unconsciously, her gaze traveled over his surprisingly muscled chest (he’d always seemed so scrawny next to his brother, despite being nearly the same towering height) down to the smattering of hair peaking over the waistband of his lowslung jeans. “The happy trail” Darcy called it. 

Jane swallowed, her entire face growing hot with embarrassment. She wasn’t that type of girl! She was a girl who holed up in the library reading the latest science journals rather than the current issue of Cosmo. She didn’t think about the kind of stuff that involved half-nude members of the opposite sex. She was only a sophomore, for crying out loud! Barely sixteen! 

Loki grinned, and it made her even more uncomfortable. “I’ve only come to change my shirt,” he said, “but if you insist…” He turned the lock on the door, and then began to unbuckle his belt, advancing toward her. 

Jane’s eyes widened. “No! I’m not—” She backed up against the shelves, desperately trying to remember everything from that self-defense workshop Mrs. Hawkins, the P.E. teacher, made all the girls take. “I’m not here for…_that_.” 

He stopped two steps from her and laughed. _Laughed_. A total guffaw—doubled over, even. “The look on your face,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m going to remember that for years.” 

Her mouth fell open in disgust. “You’re such an asshole!” 

“I’ve been called worse.” He shrugged. 

Her vicious retort was lost when someone knocked. “Jane?” came Darcy’s muffled voice from the other side. 

He beat Jane to the door, and unlocking it, opened it just enough to casually lean against the frame. “Looking for your friend?” 

“Whoa!” Jane couldn’t see Darcy, but she could imagine the girl’s expression. “You’re actually kinda hot.” 

Loki smirked. “Shocking, I know. But you’ve come for Jane.” He pushed the door open farther. “She’s been keeping me company.” 

Darcy looked between the pair, lips parting in a gasp as she clearly drew the wrong conclusion. Jane wanted to die. Scratch that. She wanted to have never existed in the first place, so people couldn’t spread rumors about that quiet, bookish girl getting it on with Thor Odinson’s little brother. 

Loki sighed. “It’s a pity we were interrupted just when things were getting really fun.” He was talking to her now. “I suppose you have to leave now.” 

Before she could deny that anything like _that_ had been happening in this room, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. Jane was not completely inexperienced in the act, but the few times she’d locked lips with a guy, it had been a little sloppy and awkward. This was nothing like that. This was the kind of kiss that they wrote about in romance novels (not that she’d read any—well, more than one), the kind of kiss they captured onscreen in the romantic comedies Darcy made her watch. This was the kind of kiss that sent a bolt of lightning across every nerve-ending in her body. 

The kind of kiss that made her almost wish she was that type of girl. 

And then it was over. 

“I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he said, stepping back from her. 

She nodded dumbly, barely aware of Darcy pulling her out of the room, leading her down the hall, babbling about not knowing that Jane even liked the dude and was the kiss as good as it looked? 

“Oh, and Jane!” Loki shouted, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “You can borrow my books anytime you want.” He winked at her and shut his door. 

Horror washed over her as everyone was sent into a flurry of whispers. She wanted to wave the copy of _The Evolution of Physics_ she’d accidentally walked away with, screaming that she had _literally_ borrowed a book. But nobody would believe her. So, she let Darcy usher her down the stairs and out into the night, all while hating Loki with every bone in her body. 

And hating more that a part of her wanted to kiss him again. 


	2. Reputations as a Casual Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know at least two of the words for this chapter were "Nutella" and "fur."

Jane groaned when her alarm went off on Monday morning. She briefly thought about playing sick, but Mr. O’Connell was assigning projects in Physics today, and she had worked her butt off to earn the right for first pick. 

No, she would just have to do the walk of shame (which she totally didn’t deserve) and get it over with. She was a virtual nobody in the school’s social pecking order, anyway. Who was going to care about her Saturday night exploits—or lack, thereof? 

Then again, Loki was Thor’s brother. And Thor had shot right to the top of the hierarchy in the three short months since their arrival. Loki was even popular—either by association or because he was a dark, mysterious newcomer with an accent—though he seemed to spurn the attention. 

Yeah, there was no hope of her sliding under the radar anytime soon. 

She threw her blanket over her head in abject resignation. Not even Nutella on toast was going to make this better. 

Nor the text from Darcy she received seconds later. _Sorry. Gotta bail. Mom’s taking a therapy day. Later_! Jane rolled her eyes. Mrs. Lewis’ idea of “therapy” involved a lot of retail. Jane’s best friend was abandoning her in her hour of need for the sake of Tommy Hilfiger and Jimmy Choo. Which also meant riding the bus this morning. 

Awesome. 

With a sigh, Jane got ready for school. She wished she could wear her baggiest clothes and her hoodie— anything to hide in—but she had to don her stupid school uniform. One of the many sacrifices she made for a premium education at the best private school on the East Coast. 

Downstairs, she found Uncle Erik in the kitchen, distractedly pouring himself a cup of coffee as he studied a stack of data printouts. “I’ll be helping with the upgrade at the planetarium after classes today,” he said when she walked in. “I don’t know how late I’m going to be, so don’t forget your key.” 

Jane nodded, though she was disappointed. After suffering through the rumor mill at school, she was going to come home to an empty house. Whoever said bad luck always came in threes wasn’t lying. She was going to ask about the upgrade when her phone went off. 

_It’s rude to keep people waiting_. 

Jane frowned at the message. The number was blocked and she figured someone had misdialed. Until her phone went off again. 

_We don’t have all day, Jane._

Outside a car horn blared. It sounded deceptively like it was coming from the driveway. 

Uncle Erik made a face. “Will you please remind Darcy that honking is frowned upon?” 

“But—” 

Whoever it was (not Darcy) laid on the horn again with three short bursts. 

“Jane.” Uncle Erik leveled his “stern professor” look at her, and that was that. No more arguments. 

She grabbed her book bag with a huff (because this was seriously not her fault), and yanked the front door open, ready to let the honking culprit have it. She stopped short on the porch steps, mouth hanging open at the car parked out front. It was a cherry red convertible. A really expensive looking cherry red convertible. With Thor in the front seat. And Sif next to him. 

“What?” Jane blinked. She thought about going back inside and coming out again. Because this was not happening. 

“Get in!” 

That was not Thor. That was Loki—the boy who had made himself her mortal enemy. He leaned over the side of the car, holding up his arms in exasperation. Oh, no. No, no, no. This was most definitely not happening. She didn’t know what stupid game this was, but she was done. One thousand percent done. (If it was mathematically possible, anyway.) 

“No, thanks,” she said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and crossing the lawn without a backward glance. 

Unfortunately it was not that easy to evade Odinsons and companion as Thor pulled the car up beside the sidewalk, letting it roll slowly to keep pace with her miserably short-legged gait. 

“Come on, Jane,” Thor said in his deep jovial voice. “We’re happy to offer you a ride.” 

How did he know her name? They didn’t travel in same circles. Not even close. Like the distance between Earth and Pluto. Unless… 

She didn’t even want to think about what Loki might have said about her. 

She plastered on a smile. “Thanks, but I’m going to ride the bus.” 

“Oh, quit being stubborn and get in the car,” Loki said. 

She wanted to smack that stupid patronizing smirk off of his face. “Pass.” She sped up—not quite to a jog but almost. 

Thor laughed. “Trouble in paradise already, brother?” 

Jane rounded on them, cheeks blazing with embarrassment and indignation. “I don’t know what he told you—” she jabbed a finger in Loki’s direction, “—but there’s no paradise! There never was!” 

Satisfied that everyone had gotten the message loud and clear, she stalked off toward the bus stop. Thankfully, they didn’t follow. Now she just had to get through the day, and everyone would forget about what didn’t happen in Loki’s room at the party. Life would go back to normal. The end. 

Not the end. 

Because Loki was waiting at her locker when she got to school—not just waiting, but leaning his tall frame against it, arms crossed, and smug grin stretching his mouth. 

She shoved him out of the way. “Leave me alone.” 

“Why?” Apparently he found all of this completely hilarious. 

She glared at him. “I don’t know, maybe because I hate you.” 

His smile got even wider. “And that’s supposed to bother me?” 

“No, it bothers me that you won’t go away.” She swung the locker open, nearly hitting him in the arm. She wished it had. He deserved it. 

“You haven’t given me a compelling reason to,” he said, plucking her physics book out of her locker before she could grab it. 

“I hate you. I don’t want you around.” She tried unsuccessfully to snatch the book from him. “Those aren’t compelling reasons to leave me alone?” 

He furrowed his brow as if he was giving her question serious consideration. “Apparently not.” 

She let out a frustrated groan. “I hate you.” 

“So you keep saying.” 

“I keep saying it because you’re not getting it!” She slammed her locker shut and made another grab for her book which he easily out of her reach. Jerk. “Look, I don’t want to do whatever…_this_…is. I just want to go back to not knowing you and you not knowing me. Saturday night never happened—_because it never happened!_” 

He cringed, sucking in a hissing breathe between his teeth with phony regret. “I’m afraid that’s not what people are saying.” 

“Only because of you!” Her outburst drew the attention of the other kids in the corridor, and she felt her entire body turn bright red. 

“Careful, Jane.” Loki grinned. “You’re starting to make a scene. And you’re going to make us late.” He took her by the elbow and led her toward their first class. 

The rest of the morning didn’t go any better. Sure, she got her pick of projects (a reproduction of Young’s experiment on the dual nature of light), which was ruined by Mr. O’Connell’s announcement that they were to work in pairs. Loki immediately volunteered to be her partner. 

It wouldn’t have been so horrible if he didn’t magically appear at the end of every period to walk her to her next class. Every single one. By lunch, when he draped himself on the bench next to her in the quad, Jane had reached her limit. 

“You’re a bully,” she said, scooting away from him. “This is bullying. Or stalking. Or harassment. Or something mean.” 

He laughed that annoying dry, clipped laugh. “On the contrary, I’m helping your sullied reputation.” 

Yeah, right. “’On the contrary’…‘sullied,’” she mimicked him. “Who even talks like that?” 

He raised a brow. “Like what?” 

“Like—I don’t know.” She gestured wildly. “Like the people in _Pride and Prejudice_.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Perhaps because I hail from the land where the language is spoken properly, rather than your bastardized American imitation.” 

“Oh, please. I’ve seen British television. You’re just a snob.” She shook her head. “I think you talk all superior-than-thou just to put people off.” 

“I’m stunned that you’ve figured me out so easily,” he replied in a bored voice. “Since we’re on the subject of dissecting secret motivations, I think for all your declarations of hatred, you want me to kiss you again.” 

Jane’s mouth fell open. “I do not!” She did. Or at least, a part of her did. A traitorous part of her which had absolutely no self-preservation. And she was not going to take advice anytime soon from that reckless side of her. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t mousey Jane Foster and her new boy toy.” 

And apparently Jane’s day _could_ get worse. Because being haunted by Loki wasn’t bad enough. The Fates had decided that Marcus Jamison, Asshole Supreme, and his cronies needed to be thrown into the mix. 

She really should have just stayed home. 

“Man,” Marcus said, “if I had known you’d be such an easy lay, Foster, I might have gone for you myself.” His buddies laughed. 

“I doubt you would have succeeded,” Loki replied, picking at some lint on his slacks. For a beat, Jane thought he might actually set the record straight. 

Marcus snorted. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Look at yourself.” Loki gestured toward the other boy. “You’re uneducated, unkempt, and really just a poor excuse for a human being. I doubt you could seduce your way out of a parking ticket, let alone a girl who could outwit you in a game of checkers.” 

Marcus’ face turned a fantastic shade of crimson, and his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Say that again, Odinson.” 

“Allow me to rephrase, then.” Loki rose from the bench. The movement was casual, and yet there was no denying the several inches of extra height he had on all of them. There was also no denying the little thrill building inside of Jane over his willingness to stick up for her. 

Even though he was the reason she was in the predicament in the first place. 

“I’ll use small words,” he continued. “You’re not smart enough to bed Jane. Jane is not stupid enough to let you try. Now, myself, on the other hand… Well, I think you catch my drift, as you Americans say.” 

Marcus started to lunge for Loki, but one of his friends held him back. “Come on, man. He’s Thor’s brother. Don’t be an idiot.” 

The look that came over Loki’s face was the scariest thing Jane had ever seen. It was the kind of deranged expression she imagined serial killers wore just before they attacked. 

“You’re an idiot if you think I need my brother to handle my fights,” he growled. Literally _growled_. Like a vicious wild animal. “Shall we have it out?” 

Marcus seemed torn between wanting to beat the crap out of Loki and fear of retribution from Thor— who looked like a champion UFC competitor. Especially with the furry beard he’d begun to sport lately. 

“Coward,” Loki spat. “Another reason why you would never have her. That and your small dick.” 

Jane gasped, hands flying to her mouth. (Not that she disagreed with Loki’s theory.) 

Everything happened so quickly, she couldn’t say who threw the first punch. Within seconds, the quad was crowded with students egging on Loki and Marcus. And Marcus’ three friends who jumped in when Loki was getting the upper hand. 

The fight lasted all of three minutes before two teachers broke it up. Loki blew a kiss at Jane before he was dragged off to the dean’s office, laughing through bloodied teeth. 

He was a psychopath. He _had_ to be. 

All the more reason to have nothing at all to do with him. No matter how good of a kisser he was. 

She didn’t see him the rest of the day and figured he’d been suspended, if not kicked out of school entirely. The latter would definitely make avoiding him easier. Yep, he’d get expelled and she would eventually forget about what he could do with that expert mouth of his, and then everything would be happy and peppy and bursting with joy again. 

It was a beautiful dream. A beautiful short-lived dream. 

He was sitting on her doorstep, uniform jacket hanging over his shoulder, when she got off the bus. She really had to stop hoping that things were magically going to go back to the way they’d been before. 

Clearly he wasn’t going to let them. 

“I think this makes officially makes you a stalker,” she said, crossing her arms. “I could file a restraining order.” 

He grinned. “I defended your honor. The least you can offer is to tend to the wounds I suffered on your behalf.” He pointed to the split in his upper lip. There were bruises on his knuckles too, but that was about the gist of his injuries. 

“You didn’t defend my honor.” She glowered at him. “If you were defending my honor you would have told everyone that I didn’t sleep with you. You wouldn’t have even started the rumor in the first place!” 

She shook her head. “No, you defended your ego. But thanks for playing. Please accept this consolation prize of getting the hell off my property!” 

He didn’t move an inch, but instead gave her his signature smirk. “Pass.” 

Ugh. He was so…so… _Ugh_! 

She stepped around him and unlocked the door with every intention of slamming it in his face. But he was on her heels, halfway over the threshold before she could turn around. 

“No,” she said, pushing him back out. “There is no way I’m letting you inside—especially when I’m the only one home.” 

He raised a brow and she could almost see the wicked little wheels turning in his head. “Oh, even better.” 

“Not even gonna happen.” She pressed her hand against his chest to keep him outside. He really was fit beneath that button down. No, Jane. Don’t go there. The quota for poor decisions has been filled for the next ten years. 

“Killjoy.” He pouted. Honest to God, _pouted_. “Nevertheless, we have some important matters to discuss.” He pried her hand from him and brushed past her into the house. 

She chased after him as he made a beeline for the kitchen—the refrigerator, specifically. “Important matters like you need to get out?” 

“There’s our science experiment, of course,” he said as he pulled out cheese and pastrami and other sandwich fixings, setting them on the island. 

“I take it you’re not expelled.” She sat on one of the stools, giving up the obviously futile idea that she could get him to leave. 

“Not even a black mark on my record. Even got a pass to miss the rest of the day for ‘medical purposes.’” He grinned. “Knives?” 

She pointed to the back of the kitchen. “Do I even want to know how you managed that?” 

He waved a hand nonchalantly. “Something about my father’s rather generous contribution to the school drying up.” 

In other words, blackmail. Considering her short association with him (under duress), it wasn’t at all surprising. She couldn’t tell if he was one of those kids who was arrogant by virtue of being raised wealthy or if he was his own special brand of pretentious jackass. The more relevant question was why had he chosen to unleash his crazy on her? She had a feeling he wouldn’t give her a straight answer if she asked. 

Once his sandwich was made—cut in half because apparently only plebians must eat a sandwich whole—he rested his hands on the countertop and gave Jane an unsettlingly piercing gaze. “Now, Jane. What are we to do about your poor reputation?” 

She sincerely hoped he wasn’t implying that they make the rumors true. Because never in a million years. Ever. Even if she was ready to cross that particular milestone (which she wasn’t), she certainly wouldn’t do it with him. “Let’s see,” she said, “we could start with you announcing over the PA system at school what really did happen that night. Maybe even a public apology for sullying my good name.” 

He nodded. “A fair strategy—if unimaginative.” He handed her half of the sandwich with a smile that set her teeth on edge. “However, I’ve a much better plan.” 

She was so going to regret this.


	3. Making Deals With the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to note that there is some coercion in these next two chapters. Loki is highly manipulative. In the past, a couple of readers were put off by that. If that's something that is a hard line for you, I warn you away from this tale.

Jane stared at Loki after he concisely laid out his plan. He was nuts. Completely bonkers. Certifiably bananas.

He gleefully ate his half of the pastrami sandwich while she stewed over his idea. Actually, she was not so much stewing as compiling a list of all the reasons why there was no way on earth she would agree to it.

“Well?” He smiled at her expectantly around a bite.

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you were _serious_ about that proposal? Because it sounds more like a really dumb joke.”

She didn’t know it was possible for someone to manage a flat look while swallowing food, but he did it with finesse. “Jane, Jane, Jane,” he chastised. “The way I see it, you have only two options.”

“Oh, do go on,” she said in the most exaggerated imitation of his accent she could manage.

His flat look got even flatter. “First—” he held up a long finger, “—you can hope that eventually everyone will forget your alleged tryst with me. Though I’m not certain how long that will take—if Marcus’ harassment of you today is any indication of how deeply ingrained the rumor has become. I do wonder how things might have turned out had I not been there to intercede on your behalf.”

If he was fishing for a thank you, it wasn’t going to happen. “And the second option?” she prodded, though she already knew the answer.

“We date for at least six months.” He shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head, “here’s my problem with that: I don’t like you.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Totally relevant!” she shot back. “I don’t know how it works where you come from, but generally, here in the Colonies, we prefer to date people that we actually _like_ being around.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m proposing a _fake_ relationship—one long enough to make everyone believe you only slept with me because we’re in love, or some sentimental shit like it. Unless you don’t care that people think you’re amenable to one-offs. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that.”

Jane groaned in frustration. She felt like she was playing an impossible round Wack-a-Mole; every time she smacked down one of his bad ideas, two more popped up. And he was deliberately oblivious to the fact that he was the reason her problems existed in the first place.

“I think we’re forgetting the third and most viable option,” she said. “Tell the truth.”

He took another bite of his sandwich, gave a good show of mulling her proposition over, and then: “No.”

She almost leapt over the island and strangled him. Almost. “Why? Because you’re worried that it’ll hurt your reputation if they found out that you didn’t get laid?”

He laughed. She hated his laugh. She hated the lanky, tall British everything about him. “I couldn’t care less about my reputation.”

No, apparently he cared about hers—more specifically he cared about dragging it through the mud. “Then why?”

He opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get a word out before the front door opened. For a frantic heartbeat, Jane thought Uncle Erik had come home early, and she had no idea how she was going to explain being home alone with a boy. Not there had ever been any clear rules about that (then again, there’d never been a need before).

“Are you home, Jane?” called Darcy and Jane blew out a sigh of relief. “Because I’ve been, like, texting you for an hour and you haven’t been answering.”

“In the kitchen,” Loki answered. Dammit, why did he keep doing that? Couldn’t he make himself scarce—just once—when his presence made people jump to the wrong conclusion? Especially when it took her all weekend to finally convince Darcy that her bedroom encounter with Loki had lasted two whole minutes and didn’t involve the meeting of any body parts.

“Oooo,” Darcy crooned as she joined them. “Now I see why you haven’t texted me back. Nice.” She gave Jane and Loki a playful grin, batting her eyelashes as she placed her elbows on the countertop. “So, what are we up to?”

“Actually, I was leaving.” Loki stepped around the island and brushed his fingers against Jane’s cheek. “Think about what I said. I expect an answer when I pick you up tomorrow morning.”

He kissed her. Again! The dirty scoundrel! She tried really, _really_ hard not to kiss him back, too. But that was like trying not to eat a Ghirardelli chocolate when someone was rubbing it against your lips. Because his mouth on hers felt so incredibly right. Which, of course, was very, very wrong.

Exactly which power in the universe decided that it was okay for such a jerk to be so good at this?

He broke away from her and dug something out of his pocket. “Oh, and Jane darling?” With a wink, he dropped her cell phone in her hand. “You really shouldn’t just leave that lying around. You never know who might pick it up.”

She scowled at his (admittedly not unpleasant) backside as he sauntered out of her house like exiting royalty. Something had to be done about him—and quick.

She turned back to Darcy and stifled another groan. Her friend wore an expression that said she was about to explode with a hundred questions at once.

“No.” Jane waved a hand, cutting her off at the pass. “No, we are not going to talk about it.” She started to clean up the mess that Loki had left (this was already becoming a habit).

“Oh, come on!” Darcy protested. “Ian heard from Scarlett that Loki beat up, like, ten guys today for you! And here he is at your house when I showed up, looking like he’d been in a fight and you’re not going to tell your best friend anything?”

Jane shoved the mayonnaise a little too hard onto the refrigerator shelf. “It was four boys, and no, we’re not.”

“Ja-_ane_!” Darcy whined. “He’s kissed you twice now! Right in front of me!”

“How was your day?” Jane asked with the biggest smile she could muster. It might have come out snarly.

“Oh, it was great. We went to the floral shop to pick out arrangements for Mom and Dad’s vow renewal ceremony.” Darcy rolled her eyes. “And then lunch, more shopping, and what the hell is going on with you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hot!?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Jane ran a hand over her face. “I’ve got a lot of homework to do, and don’t you have a research paper on the duck-billed platypus or something?”

“Are you going to eat this?” Darcy pointed to the untouched half of the sandwich and helped herself when Jane shook her head. “The report is on the habitats of beavers, thank you very much. And Ian is editing it for me as we speak.”

Jane snorted. “You mean he’s writing it for you.”

“Hey, I had some input,” Darcy said. When Jane pursed her lips, she clarified, “I chose the font.”

Jane threw her hands in the air. “Whatever. You know that one day he’s going to figure out you’re just using him.”

“Yeah, probably.” Darcy grinned and popped the last of the sandwich in her mouth.

Was everyone in Jane’s life a narcissist? Did she have some kind of neon sign welcoming self-absorbed, mildly sociopathic people into her life? Okay, maybe Darcy wasn’t that bad—but she was still more than Jane could handle at the moment. Right now, she needed some peace and quiet. An hour or two to analyze her situation with Loki and come up with a way to disentangle herself from it.

She pushed Darcy toward the entryway. “Homework time. Off you go.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “Fine. But tomorrow you’re spilling all the dirty details.”

Jane smiled. Not a chance. “Sure.”

She sagged against the door after Darcy left. The day was over. She could breathe. Finally.

_I want your love and I want your revenge. You and me could write a bad romance._

Was that coming from her phone? Yes. Yes, it was. Her phone was reminding her to “Say yes to me.” She didn’t have to guess who “me” was. A quick glance at her calendar showed that he’d programmed this particular alert to go off every waking hour for the next ten years.

He’d also changed her background to a photo of himself wearing that god-awful smirk. And all of her contacts were now Loki Odinson.

Murder didn’t seem like an immoral option anymore.

* * *

In fact, killing him would be a kindness.

That was Jane’s first thought the next morning when, after grudgingly dressing for school, she came downstairs to find Loki in her kitchen, chatting up Uncle Erik. She so did not need this.

She was exhausted from staying up late, attempting to come up with a plan of attack that didn’t involve the illegal taking of lives. Her choices were woefully limited: accept Loki’s proposal, refuse and take her chances with the gossipmongers, or start a counter rumor—one that painted Loki as a huge disappointment in the bedroom. But that meant admitting that something had actually occurred between them, therefore confirming the rumors. Likely, she’d only be seen as being petty.

Double-standards—which, by the way, should not exist in the twenty-first century—really, really sucked.

“Jane,” Uncle Erik greeted her happily, apparently unaware that he was in the presence of the devil incarnate. “Your friend here was just telling me about your physics project—the dual nature of light. That’s a fantastic experiment.”

Loki’s smile was polite and innocent. All things he was not. “I’m terribly anxious to get started. Perhaps we might work on it after school today?”

Ha! The only thing he was terribly anxious about was being terrible. She ignored him in favor of rummaging through the fridge for orange juice. That was about all she could stomach at the moment. She must have been projecting her surliness because Uncle Erik frowned when he looked at her.

“Is everything all right, Jane?” he asked as she downed a glass of juice.

“I’m afraid we’re having a bit of a row,” Loki supplied, beating her to the punch. “Well, a lover’s spat, really.”

Jane choked on her drink.

“Lover’s spat?” Uncle Erik said, thoroughly confused.

She tried to object before Loki could make this worse, but her lungs were still trying to expel her aspirated juice.

“Oh, Jane didn’t tell you?” Loki asked, ridiculously pleased with himself. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“N—!” was all Jane managed to get out around her hacking cough.

“I’m afraid we really must be going now. Don’t want to be late for school.” Loki shook her bewildered uncle’s hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Doctor Selvig. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”

Loki had her out the door and ushered into the front seat of what she presumed was his car (no cherry red convertible featuring Thor and Sif this morning) before she could catch her breath. And when she did catch her breath—

“I can’t believe you just lied to my uncle!” she hissed. “I haven’t agreed to anything!”

Loki made a derisive sound. “You will, though. You don’t really have a choice.”

She glared at him. “Is this how you get all your girlfriends? By entrapment? Extortion?”

The corner of his mouth curved up in a small grin. “You should be nicer to me. I don’t have to help you.”

“Since you created the problem in the first place,” she returned, “I’m pretty sure the laws of human decency say that you do.”

By his resounding laughter, he apparently thought she’d just delivered the joke of the century. “Wherever do you get the idea that I’m a decent human being?”

He. Was. Impossible.

She fumed in silence for the rest of the drive to school. He was doing a crap job of convincing her to agree to his plan.

This was a really nice car. Not that she wanted to notice—or have any kind of respect for his taste—but it suited him in the “Bond villain cruising in a classic BMW” way. Sleek. Black. Classy. It was in pristine condition, too.

“Well,” he said when they pulled into the parking lot, “shall we put on a show for the benighted masses? Or are you still clinging to your stubborn pride?”

Benighted? Seriously, who talked like that? No seventeen-year-old she knew, that was for sure. (She was going to have to look up that word later.)

Jane closed her eyes, letting out a sigh that came from her toes. For a heartbeat, she considered turning down his no-help-at-all offer, but she recalled yesterday’s fiasco with Marcus. Loki’d had a point when he asked how that encounter might have gone had he not been there. The thought unsettled her.

Could pretending to date Loki really be any worse than the last day and a half had been?

“I knew you’d come around.” He smirked at her before opening his door.

She scrambled out of the car. “What makes you think I’m going to go along with your plan?”

“By the resignation in your face.” He grabbed her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “Let’s get to it.”

They headed toward her locker, passing students who craned their necks. Loki seemed completely unaware of the attention they were drawing, but Jane felt every gaze, heard every whisper. She’d never been the center of scrutiny before—not like this. Only grown-ups cared about things like who won the science fair. This was wholly different, and she was pretty sure she didn’t like it.

Going from nobody to the talk of the school turned out to be the least of her worries when Loki tried to plant his lips on hers.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” She ducked out of the way. “Public displays of affection are supposed to be against school rules.”

Loki smiled. “Supposed to be, perhaps, but the rule isn’t enforced. We’ve got to sell this fake relationship.” He raised a brow when she scoffed. “I’ll make a bargain with you, Jane. If you don’t see, this very minute, at least three couples publicly displaying their affections, I will never again kiss you at school. Deal?”

“Fine.” She had it in the bag. She never saw anyone making out at school. Ever.

Except right now. Because Lana Steinberg was smooching Eric Talbert across the way. And then there was Jamie What’s-Her-Name with Matt Something-or-Other. And then Chrissy Delmonte and some guy Jane didn’t know. And then another pair that Jane couldn’t make out because they were vacuuming each other’s faces so single-mindedly.

Crap. Crapity crap, crap, crap.

Was there some mass text that went out about National Kiss in the School Halls day?

“Four,” Loki said with a smug expression. “And now five.”

As he gave her another one of his unfairly electrifying kisses, Jane realized they were going to have to lay down some serious ground rules. That, and she needed to invest in some breath mints.


	4. Negotiations Under Duress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I warn away anyone who might be uncomfortable with just how far Loki is willing to go to get Jane to keep playing their little ruse. This is the peak of his manipulation, but if it is a hard line for you, this may not be a good read for you.

“Once a month.”

“No.”

“Once a week.”

“No.”

“I’m not doing it once a day.”

“And just when you were beginning to be reasonable.”

Jane glared at Loki. He deliberately misunderstood the meaning of the words “negotiation” and “compromise.” So far in this session of setting the rules for their little ruse, he’d conceded on absolutely nothing. Not even on the location for their discussion. She’d wanted a private place (not her house); he’d insisted that they make a public appearance Hal’s Diner—a retro fifties dive decorated with old movie posters and hubcaps. It was the popular afterschool hangout for the, well, popular kids.

“Fine.” She rubbed both hands over her face with a groan. “What do you suggest, then? Every hour?”

He grinned as he dipped a fry in his chocolate milkshake. “As often as any other couple in the throes of passion. We’ve already slept together. Everyone will expect us to be quite demonstrative.” He popped the fry into his mouth.

“We have not slept together!” Jane hissed, face growing hot. She had some other choice words for him too, but she reined them in. “Whatever. Only in public. Don’t try to pull some ‘we’ve got to practice making out’ crap, either.”

Loki shrugged. It wasn’t exactly an agreement, but he hadn’t said no and she was going to run with it.

“Speaking of public affection,” he said, looping his long fingers around her arm, “you’re too far away.” He pulled her around the circular booth until she was flush against his side. “Much better, wouldn’t you say?”

“No.” It was worse. Because with her limited dating experience, she had no idea that it was possible to have a complete disconnect between her brain and her body. Logically, when the guy she hated (and she _hated_ him) draped his arm across her shoulders and winked at her, she should want to puke rather than feel a hundred butterflies take frenzied flight in her stomach.

Jane always thought girls who went out with bad boys were stupid. But apparently it was a physical condition instead of a lack of anything resembling intelligence. It had to be. She was too smart to be this dumb.

“Loki Odinson in Hal’s. I thought I’d never see the day.”

Lorelei—rich, spoiled, gorgeous head cheerleader—paused by their table with her usual entourage of sycophants. (Jane mentally congratulated herself for remembering that word from last semester’s AP English class.) The girl completely ignored Jane as she gave Loki a flirtatious flip of her auburn hair.

“I thought this place was too ‘pedestrian’ for you,” she said with a smirk.

Loki raised a brow. “It has its charms.”

Lorelei looked at Jane—really looked at her. And then dismissed her with a laugh of disbelief. “If you want to know charm, you should stop playing with little girls and spend time with a real woman.”

“Wow.” It was Jane’s turn to laugh. Because that was so unbelievably shameless and arrogant. And Lorelei had no idea that this “little girl” wished Loki had never played with her in the first place.

“And what does this ‘real woman’ have to offer me?” Loki asked as though he was seriously entertaining Lorelei’s suggestion. That bothered Jane. Not because she was jealous—Ha! Never!—but because after all the hell he’d put her through to coerce her into pretend-dating him, he was going to ditch her for a better proposition on the first day? So not cool.

Lorelei traced her finger up his arm as she licked her bottom lip. (Jane had to admit the girl had game.) “Anything you want.”

“Anything I want?” Loki grinned. “Tell me, Jane, would you give me _anything_ I want?”

Jane scoffed at the notion. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Huh.” He nodded with a pensive expression. “So, I can have either a girl—woman—who is willing to be putty in my hands, or a girl who will make me work for everything. I think the choice is fairly obvious.”

Jane’s stomach dropped when Lorelei’s mouth stretched in smug triumph as Loki took her hand.

“Beautiful Lorelei,” he said, “I’m never going to choose you. You’re boring, predictable, and no challenge at all.”

Lorelei jerked her hand back with a scowl. “And you’re always going to be a self-absorbed asshole.”

“Oh, yes,” Loki agreed with his signature half-crazed smile. “Now, would you be so kind and run along? I’d like to have a proper snog with my girlfriend and your presence is ruining the mood.”

Lorelei raised her chin with a huff and walked off, groupies in tow. Jane felt like she’d somehow scored one for the nerds that Lorelei and her ilk constantly mocked. The win was only a little tainted by having to come through Loki. (Again.)

At least fists weren’t involved this time.

Thor and Sif slid into the booth across from them seconds later, and Jane was relieved that she would not have to fend off a more intimate public display of affection from Loki.

“I think that one will find a way to repay you for your cruelty, brother,” Thor said, nodding in the direction of Lorelei’s exit.

“She will certainly try.” Loki went back to dipping fries in his shake, utterly unconcerned. “And she will fail.”

Thor laughed. It was boisterous, free—so unlike Loki’s sinister chuckles. Jane didn’t know the fair-haired senior, and she knew very little about Loki, but she could guess that the brothers were as different as night and day in both looks and personality.

“So, Jane,” Thor said to her, “we meet at last.”

She blushed. Who wouldn’t? He was so handsome and his smile made her heart do acrobatics. _Stop staring, Jane. Sif will kick your ass. Say something_. “Yeah.” Smooth.

Loki gave her a sidelong look, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You’ve met her. Go away.”

“Don’t be like this, Loki.” Thor shook his head. “After all your declarations that American girls were inferior in every way, I’d like to know the one who changed your mind.”

“Me?” Jane said with a derisive snort. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve changed anything.” Would that she could.

“He’s out instead of skulking about his room.” Thor gestured toward his brother. “I believe that has something to do with you.” At least, Jane was pretty sure that was what he was going to say before Loki’s milkshake ended up in his lap.

For his part, Loki was all shock and innocence. “Oh, shit!” He rose to help his brother. “I’m so sorry, brother. My hand slipped and—”

Thor waved him off with a laugh. “I’d better clean this up, else I’ll never hear the end of it from Mother. Pleasure to meet you, Jane. I hope to see more of you in the future.” He gave her a little bow before heading toward the restrooms.

Sif hung back and glowered at Loki as if she, like Jane, suspected the spill was no accident. “Thor may be blind to your little tricks because he loves you, but I am not.”

Loki took a step toward her, eyes narrowing. “Exactly, Sif,” he said. “He loves _me_—his brother. You? You’re just an interloper. Kindly know your place.”

“Someday he’s going to figure out what a bastard you really are.”

He gave her a sickly sweet smile. “Careful. You wouldn’t want me to poison his opinion of you. After all, blood will always be thicker than water.”

Sif gave him a final, searing glare before going after Thor.

Jane gaped at Loki, reeling from that biting exchange. “You’re the meanest person I’ve ever met in my entire life. Is there anyone that you’re actually genuinely nice to?”

Loki pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and dropped a twenty on the table. “My mother.” He offered his hand, but she scooted out of the booth without it.

He grabbed her arm when she tried to walk past him, yanked her back to him. “Jane,” he said in a low voice, cupping her cheeks. “You are supposed to be enamored with me, not my brother.”

He kissed her as if he was trying to melt every bone in her body with a single lip-lock. And he was succeeding. His mouth over hers was an avalanche against her senses. A breathless, heart-palpitating, skin-tingling overload.

She gasped when he broke away from her and whispered against her ear, “I’ll thank you to remember it.”

It wasn’t until she was home later that she realized that they hadn’t laid down any ground rules at all.

* * *

In the two classes Jane had with Loki, he’d never sat anywhere near her. She ascribed to the school of thought that the promising students always took the front row—when there was no assigned seating (like in her Physics class)—and Loki preferred to hide in the back of the room plotting and scheming or whatever. And in Calculus, where they were seated by last name, F and O were not close in the alphabet.

Class time was quickly becoming her only reprieve from her fake relationship with Loki. He was always around—taking her to and from school, walking her to every class, lunch, requiring some kind of after school “public show” (usually at Hal’s or that hole-in-the-wall coffee shop the cool kids favored—or even the library when she demanded that she get some studying done). And when her blackmailer wasn’t hovering over her, she was being grilled by Darcy about her so-called whirlwind romance.

Even things were different with Uncle Erik. He seemed to have finally noticed that she’d made the transition between little girl and young woman, and he wasn’t quite sure how to interact with her now when hormones and boobs and boyfriends were involved. It was totally unfair. She’d had the boobs and hormones before this whole fiasco with Loki.

So, for fifty-four minutes seven times a day, she got to be just Jane, the avid student who would likely graduate a year early. She lived for that combined six hours and eighteen minutes.

She should have known that Loki would find a way to ruin the two classes they shared.

Physics wasn’t so bad. He’d used the excuse of their project to finagle a seat next to her and mostly left her alone. Mostly. When he didn’t… Well, she was getting better at ignoring him. Sort of.

Calculus was a different animal. She had no idea how he’d managed to talk the no-nonsense Mrs. Pipitone into letting him move his desk, but she was now stuck with him seated behind her. And he was a constant distraction. Playing with her hair, murmuring smartass comments under his breath that only she could hear. She was pretty sure he was cheating in that class. There was no way that he could spend the entire period annoying her and have the second highest grade. (She had the highest.)

She didn’t think it could get any worse.

She was wrong.

A week and a half into their unholy arrangement, Jane was startled by a white board eraser flying in her direction. She’d been unfolding a note that Loki had dropped onto her desk.

“Planning to share with the rest of the class, Miss Foster?” Mrs. Pipitone asked with a pursed expression.

Every ounce of blood in Jane’s body rushed to her face. “No, ma’am.” She tried to surreptitiously drop the note into her bag. (Why had she even considered opening it in the first place?)

“Oh, I insist. It must be very important if you’re ignoring my lesson.” Mrs. Pipitone gestured for Jane to join her.

Jane glanced back at Loki, but of course his face was completely placid. The jerk. She stood on shaky legs and walked to the front of the class, clutching the offending piece of paper so tightly it crumpled in her hand. She had never been in trouble in school. Ever.

“Well, read it to us,” Mrs. Pipitone demanded.

Jane opened the note, stomach in her throat as she skimmed Loki’s spidery handwriting. “I can’t.” Her voice cracked. “I can’t read this.”

“Allow me.” Mrs. Pipitone snatched the paper from her and cleared her throat.

“Fairest Jane of my heart, How I adore thee. Let me count the ways. From your amber gaze when you scowl so prettily to your rosy lips which accept mine so easily…”

Jane wanted to lay down and die as the other students snickered. Why? Why did he have to make her life so miserable? What had she ever done to him?

“Mr. Odinson,” Mrs. Pipitone said, blessedly choosing not to read the whole terrible thing, “may I assume that you’re the author of this bad poetry?”

Loki bore his teeth in a Cheshire-like grin. “Jane is my muse and I can’t help but wax eloquent in her presence.” More snickering. Which didn’t faze him at all.

Mrs. Pipitone shook her head. “In the future, I expect you to keep your declarations of undying affection out of my classroom.” The bell rang. “Dismissed.”

Jane grabbed her things and scrambled out of the door. Loki chased after her, calling her name, but there was no way she could keep up this stupid pretense anymore. It was one thing to humiliate her in front of the other kids at school—but a teacher? No. Not okay. So very not okay.

She wrenched her locker open, and he slammed it shut again. “Do you ever lighten up?” he asked, sounding exasperated. _He_ was exasperated? Oh, no. No, no, no. He did _not_ get to be annoyed with her.

“I don’t know!” She rounded on him. “Do you ever take things seriously? Like how you’re messing up everything for me!?”

He rolled his eyes. “It was a harmless bit of fun. Why are you getting so worked up?”

Jane stared at him absolutely dumbfounded. He really didn’t get it at all. “Harmless? _Harmless_? I might need a letter of recommendation from Mrs. Pipitone someday and she’s going to remember me as the girl who was canoodling with her boyfriend during the lesson!”

Loki crossed his arms and gave her a flat look. “Right. And you having the top marks in class won’t come to mind at all.”

“You know what? I’m done.” She threw her hands in the air. “I’m not playing your twisted little game anymore. Go find someone else to...do _this_ with!” She stalked off toward her history class. Without her textbook. Ugh.

True to character, Loki followed. “Like it or not, Jane,” he said as he kept pace with her, “we’re in this together.”

She wanted to scream. “Why? Why are we in this together? What do you get out of this charade?”

He stepped in front of her and blocked her path when she tried to circumvent him. “You’ve been a willing participant in this charade.”

“You didn’t give me a choice!”

He cocked a brow and smiled. “I’m still not giving you a choice.” He did something totally unexpected, then. He dropped to his knees and those pale eyes of his welled up with tears. “Please!” he exclaimed. “Please don’t break up with me, Jane! I can’t live without you!”

Every head in the hallway turned in their direction as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the bottom of her uniform jacket. “You’re my everything! I love you! I promise I’ll be better!” The performance was Oscar-worthy.  
“

Stop it,” she whispered through her teeth. Everybody was staring, whispering, pointing.

“Only if you say you’ll keep to our arrangement,” he murmured back before he wailed her name in a garbled voice.

“Okay. Okay!” she hissed. “Just make it stop.”

“Kiss me.”

“What? No!”

“We’re making up after a big fight,” he said. “You have to kiss me. Our audience is waiting.”

Jane groaned. She’d never initiated a single smooch with him before, and she didn’t want to start now. “I really hate you.”

He grinned. “I really don’t care.”

Oh, she was going to give him the kiss of the century and wipe the egotistical expression right off of his pretty face! She tipped his chin up and pressed her lips against his, pouring every pent-up fantasy she’d had in her short life into it. Which, of course, was not the smartest idea she’d ever come up with. Because unlike her during their previous make out sessions, he didn’t put up a resistance. This, she realized, was what “synergistic” meant.

She was vaguely aware of the crowd cheering them on.

It took a feat of willpower, but she managed to break off the kiss. She was a more than a little proud of the dazed look he gave her (even if her own legs had turned gelatinous). Turnabout was fair play.

“I’ll see you after class, babe,” she said, patting his head before stepping around him.

“Damn,” he muttered behind her.

For the first time since this nightmare began, she smiled. A real, bonafide smile.


	5. Late Night Shenanigans

_Are you awake?_

Jane stared bleary-eyed at the text message. The number was blocked which, of course, meant it was from Loki. She sighed as she scrolled through the eight other messages. 

_I can’t sleep_. 

_I’m bored_. 

_I’m coming over_. 

_Wake up_. 

_I’m going to start throwing rocks at your window_. 

_As soon as I figure out which one it is_. 

_Why do all the windows look the same?_

_WAKE UP ALREADY_

Jane glanced at the clock. 2:17 am. She was going to have to add middle-of-the-night texting to the growing list of Things Loki is Not Allowed to Do. That and showing up at her house in the wee hours of the morning. And, for good measure, she’d throw in the demand that he unblock his number so that she could actually respond to him. 

She thought about ignoring him—he would go away eventually—but she might as well lay down the law right now before he kept her awake with a dozen more texts. 

The dynamics had changed between them after that scene he made at school. (Had it really been more than a month since then?) She realized something that day: he wanted this pretend relationship more than she did. And he was willing to take on the role of love-sick boyfriend to keep up the ruse.   
Exactly who had the power in this thing? Sullied reputation aside, it was her. So totally _her_. 

That lovely little revelation made possible for her to finally set boundaries. Only a few, though. Because Loki was still Loki, after all. 

_Jane_

_JaNe_

_JANE_

_JANEJANEJANEJANEJANE_

With a groan of irritation, she turned on her bedside lamp and began digging through her wardrobe for whatever was clean and warm. Her phone went off every few seconds, but she didn’t bother to read the texts. She could guess what they said. 

Sneaking out of the house was a new thing for Jane. She’d had a lot of new experiences since Loki inserted himself into her life and she’d enjoyed precisely zero of them. All right, maybe one. But just that one. And she didn’t like that she enjoyed it, so it didn’t count. 

What counted right now was that despite going up and down these stairs for years with nary a sound, they creaked. Loudly. Every. Single. Step. It was as if the house wanted her to get caught. She could imagine how the conversation would go with a stern-faced, bedraggled Uncle Erik. 

“Um, I’m going outside for just a minute to tell my boyfriend—and I use that term loosely—to stop texting me in the middle of the night, okay? Okay.” 

Yeah, that would go over really well. 

She sighed with relief when she made it to the front door without a commotion. And then she sucked in another breath, ready to unleash the tirade she had prepared on the way outside—an eloquent rant with phrases Loki would understand like “breach of propriety” and “decorum” and “begone, foul pest.” She’d been upping her vocabulary game since they started dating—fake dating. Because she hated that he sounded smarter, even though she had the better GPA. 

Loki’s BMW was parked by the curb and he was leaning against it, fiddling with his phone. (Probably texting her again.) He glanced up as she made a beeline for him with accusatory finger pointed in his direction. 

“Took you long enough.” He pocketed his phone and had the passenger door open before she could get a word out. “Let’s go.” 

“First of all,” she said, crossing her arms, “don’t ever text me in the middle of the night again—especially on a school night.” 

“Yes, yes.” He nodded, though she was pretty sure he wasn’t actually agreeing with her. “Can we finish this in the car before you wake your neighbors? You get rather shrill when you’re angry.” 

“I do not get shrill!” she screeched and then slapped a hand over her mouth, cheeks on fire. 

“Not shrill at all.” Loki smirked and waved a hand toward the vehicle. “Well?” 

She glared. She huffed. But she ultimately got in. Being able to yell at him properly was so much more satisfying, anyway. 

It didn’t occur to her that he would actually drive away with her—not until he turned the engine over and put the car into gear. 

“What are you doing?” She hastily fastened her seatbelt. “Where are you taking me?” If Uncle Erik woke up and figured out she was gone, God have mercy on her soul. 

“It’s a surprise.” He looked at her and winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you home and tucked into your bed long before dawn.” 

Jane opened her mouth to demand that he take her back home this instant, but then thought better of it. Her reluctant association with him had taught her to pick her battles. Sometimes if she held out long enough, she’d win whatever disagreement they were having. But this time? When he was in the driver’s seat and had control over their destination? She was probably not going to outmatch his stubbornness. 

It was weird how they’d developed this kind of symbiotic…thing. She didn’t know what to call it. They certainly weren’t a couple for real—despite how affectionate they were when they had an audience. And she definitely wouldn’t call him a friend, not really. Maybe partners in crime? Two people who had come together for mutually beneficial purposes. (Though Loki still hadn’t told her what he was getting out of the whole arrangement. He wasn’t hurting for female attention; Jane had seen the way the other girls at school looked at him.) 

What was even weirder was that she kinda didn’t hate him anymore—not completely. He was infuriating, bullheaded, self-centered, rude, spoiled, and a total trouble-maker, but he wasn’t really that bad. Right? 

Loki broke the companionable silence. “You’re not going to let me have it?” 

She frowned at him. “What?” 

“That little diatribe you had ready for me when you came out of the house,” he explained. “You had it all outlined with bullet points, I’m sure of it.” 

“Oh, that.” She didn’t feel quite so irate now. “Just don’t do this again, okay?” 

“All right.” He smiled. “I won’t do it again until next time.” 

She laughed in spite of herself. That was another new thing: laughing when he was being—what was that word again?—incorrigible. “Stop it. I’m being serious.” 

“As am I.” His smile widened. “You don’t want me to make a promise I have no idea if I can keep, do you?”   
Jane rolled her eyes. “I’m turning my phone off at night.” 

He answered with an indifferent shrug. 

“And you have to unblock your number,” she added. 

“So you can block it?” He raised a brow. “I think not.” 

She glowered at him. Did he think everyone was as scheming as he was? Okay, to be fair, she might have done that a couple of weeks ago. He wasn’t totally incorrect in that assumption. 

He parked in a quiet neighborhood, and Jane couldn’t begin to fathom what they were doing here. Meeting someone else? That would be a surprise. She’d never seen him with anyone resembling a friend. He pulled a black duffle bag out of the back seat and stepped out of the car. 

“Let’s go,” he said when she didn’t move. 

“I’m not helping you break into a house.” She gave a significant glance to the mysterious bag. Fake relationship she could do. Real felony was out of the question. 

He laughed. “You’re determined to think the worst of me. I’d be hurt if I actually cared.” He shook his head. “We’re not breaking into anything. We’re merely partaking in a time-honored tradition.” 

He unzipped the bag, revealing rolls of toilet paper. “Just a harmless bit of mischief. Coming?” 

She decided to join him despite the nervous palpitations in her chest. She’d never participated in this rite of passage, and she was kind of excited. Mostly scared, but kind of excited. 

“Who are you targeting?” she whispered as she followed him down the street. “Or are you randomly choosing a place?” 

“You’ll see.” He gave her a little half-smile as he led her around the corner. 

Jane’s mouth fell open when they stopped in front of a familiar federal-style mansion. “No.” 

“Oh, most definitely _yes_.” Loki’s little half-smile stretched into a full-on diabolical grin. “I don’t have any adversaries to speak of—not yet. But you do.” 

“How did you even—?” She didn’t finish the question. She knew. Darcy. 

“Your friend is a plethora of information.” He glanced at Jane. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of getting revenge.” 

Oh, she had. She had imagined every day for more than a year what it would be like to get back at Jeremy Holmes—the first boy she thought herself in love with. Her cheeks burned even now at the memory of how he’d led her to believe he reciprocated her affections—even invited her over for a weekend barbeque with his family. 

The following Monday, he announced to the whole school that he’d never go out with her because she was too flat-chested. 

That was in seventh grade. Wasn’t she above petty grudges now? 

No. Not at all. 

“Let’s do this.” She grabbed one of the rolls out of Loki’s bag and chucked it at the large oak tree in the front yard. 

Toilet papering was clearly not as easy as people made it look. The roll did not unravel like it was supposed to as it soared through the air, but stayed together when it hit the tree trunk with a soft thump. Loki doubled over with laughter for at least five minutes. (Maybe not quite that long—but it sure felt like it.) Irritated, she retrieved the defiant toilet paper and threw it at him. Which only made him laugh harder, of course 

“You really have never done this before, have you?” he asked when he caught his breath. 

“I’m too busy with school to commit misdemeanors on a regular basis!” she hissed back. 

“I like this,” he said, picking the roll up off the ground. “I get to pop your toilet papering cherry.” He waggled his brows. 

She snorted. “You’re picking up some American dialect.” 

“Only the more colorful idioms.” 

He crouched behind her—she forgot how tall he was sometimes—and held out the roll in the palm of his hand. Her stomach fluttered when he spoke against her ear in a low voice. “First, you unwind a bit and hold the end. Go on.” 

She did as he asked, far too aware of his closeness. More aware than she’d ever been in the entirety of their association. 

“Now throw it underhanded, letting it roll off of your fingertips,” he instructed. “Aim high—higher than you think.” 

She drew her hand back and tossed the roll up into the tree, biting back a squeal of delight when it went over the branch like a streamer. “I did it!” Before her brain caught up with her body, she was knocking him over with a hug. 

Immediately she scrambled off of him, face hot with embarrassment. “Thanks.” 

He gave her a funny smile that sent the flurries in her stomach into a tizzy. “Of course.” 

Fortunately this sudden weirdness between them was fleeting, only lasting as long as it took to grab more ammo from the duffle bag to complete their act of vandalism. Jane had a couple of misfires before she really got the hang of throwing the rolls. She was glad that Loki was too busy with his own to make fun of her. 

They tp-ed the tree and the shrubs in the yard. Loki made a veil of toilet paper over the front door, using some tape he had in the bag. Jane was too scared to get that close to the house, but she giggled as she watched him. He laughed too, even though he kept shushing her. 

“It’s too bad I won’t get to see the look on his face tomorrow morning,” she said as they stood on the sidewalk, admiring their handiwork. 

Loki looked down at her with a canted brow. “We’ll just have to use our imaginations.” 

There was that funny smile again. One that made him seem almost human rather than a creature built entirely out of sarcasm and nasty pranks. She grinned back at him. This was weird, but a good kind of weird—at least, she thought it was good. She didn’t want to strangle him. That was good, right? 

The exterior lights flicked on abruptly, stopping Jane’s heart. Cursing under his breath, Loki grabbed her hand and shot off like a bat out of hell. She could barely keep up with his ridiculously long legs, and she was pretty sure their forward momentum kept her from performing a spectacular face-plant. 

She laughed, more than a little breathless, when they were safely in the car and making their getaway. “That was—” 

“Fun?” he finished with a smirk. “And here I thought the universe would implode if Jane Foster ever did anything exciting. Odd how that didn’t happen.” 

She punched him in the arm, though she was grinning. “Be nice, you jerk.” 

“Nice is boring.” 

She watched him as he drove, pale face illuminated by the moonlight. He really was very handsome— not that she hadn’t noticed before. It was like when all the girls were swooning over Zac Efron a few years ago, and while Jane accepted that the actor was very attractive in a clinical sense, looking at him didn’t turn her knees to jello. 

That was how she felt about Loki for the most part—torrid public make-out sessions aside. Until now. 

It was as if she was seeing him for the first time as her gaze followed the sharp lines of his profile. He was all angles, no curves. Geometric perfection. She blushed at the revelation. 

This new development was going to be really inconvenient. 

Giving into the impulse, she brushed her fingers across the sandpapery stubble dusting his cheek and chin. (He was her boyfriend—fake or not—so it was perfectly okay to touch him. Totally. Darcy would agree.) “I’ve never seen you with a five o’clock shadow,” she said. “I didn’t know you could grow a beard.” 

He laced his fingers with hers as he drew her hand down to the gear shift. “Unlike my brother, I have no desire to resemble a half-witted mountain man.” His words had a hint of bitterness to them, and she frowned. 

“You say that as if being anything like Thor would be horrible.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He seems like a good guy.” 

Loki laughed, but it was hollow. “The best, in fact—or so I’m often told. Exactly the sort of young man I should aspire to be.” He pitched his voice to a falsetto. “’Loki, why can’t you be more like your brother?’ ‘Thor would never do that.’ ‘Your brother is so amazing, can you give me his number?’ ‘Thor is practically perfect in every way. What happened to you, Loki?’” 

“Wow.” She couldn’t begin to imagine what that would feel like—to have an older sibling everyone loved. “I’m sorry.” 

“Save it.” He parked and turned off the engine. “You’re no different from the rest of them. I’ve seen the way you look at him—like he hung the very stars.” He stepped out of the car and slammed the door before she could formulate a response. 

She had a prickly sort of feeling in her chest, one that made it hurt to breathe, and she didn’t know how to make it go away. 

She climbed out of the car, surprised to find that they were not at her house but at The Butte—aka Kissing Point, aka Make-Out Mountain and other, seedier nicknames. How did he even know about this place? Actually, nevermind. She didn’t want to know the answer to that question. 

“What are we doing here?” she asked, hugging herself. In the excitement of tp-ing Jeremy’s house, she hadn’t noticed how cold it was. Now she wished she’d worn a warmer coat. 

“Forgive me for not wanting to go home just yet,” Loki answered, tossing rock over the drop. 

“Is it that bad?” When he glared at her, she added, “I mean, I know it sucks to be compared to Thor, but you still have it good.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. Why should I ever be unhappy when my father has so much money? Because everything I could possibly want can be bought, is that it?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I—” 

He cut her off with the wave of his hand. “Don’t pretend to know what my life is like, Jane.” 

“I’m not!” Ugh, he was so infuriating! She inhaled, trying to rein her temper in. It wasn’t working. “You have a brother who loves you. You still have your parents. And pisses me off that you take it for granted. I don’t have that. I’m never going to have it. So, you can take your little Emo pity party and stick it. Because I don’t feel sorry for you. Get over yourself.” 

He stared at her for several excruciatingly silent moments before clapping. “Bravo,” he said. “Blunt and to the point. I might have even cried—if I had a heart.” 

She let out an exasperated laugh. “You’re such a liar!” 

“Usually,” he admitted with that stupid (fake) smug expression of his. “But I’ll indulge you. Which lie specifically are you referring to?” 

“That you don’t care!” she shot back. “You care. You care a lot or else it wouldn’t bother you what I think of your brother.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he returned with disdain. 

“Whatever.” He could deny it until he was blue in the face, but she had him figured out. At least, a little more than before. He may not _like_ like her, but he definitely didn’t want to be considered second-best to Thor. Not in her eyes, or anyone else’s. 

He _so_ cared. 

She didn’t know what that meant, but it felt important. 

“You’re cold.” Loki was looking at her with a crease in his brow. 

She thought he was calling her unkind in his uppity British jargon, but then realized he was talking about her chattering teeth. Her lips were probably blue, too. “Yes.” 

He closed the distance between them, unzipping his jacket. But instead of taking it off and giving it to her, he pulled her flush against his chest and enveloped her with his coat. It was deliciously toasty inside. 

“Better?” he asked. 

She made a noise of agreement. He smelled really good. She would have to find out what laundry detergent his mom used. “It’s getting late.” 

He chuckled. “Because it wasn’t late when I came for you.” 

She started to argue but it turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. Her body wasn’t made to handle so much intensified excitement in such a short period of time. 

“And that’s my cue to take you home.” He sighed. “You’re a wuss.” 

“More American lingo? Careful, you might become one of the…benighted masses,” she said with another yawn as he ushered her back into the car. 

“I’ve been working on my southern twang,” he returned in an authentic-sounding drawl before closing her door. 

She laughed. 

After he deposited her at home, she received a text—this time from an unblocked number. 

_I’m thinking either Marcus or Lorelei next time_. 

As Loki as ever. She smiled as she sent him a reply. 

_You’re impossible_. 

_You like it. >;)_

Maybe she did a little. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. 


	6. Less Than Pleasant Experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that this was written back when Donald Trump was not involved in politics.

Jane felt like her life had become one of those “Expectation vs. Reality” internet memes.

_Expectation: _Jane’s first high school sweetheart would be a nice but nerdy boy who listened with rapt attention as they discussed the merits of Lorentzian Transversable Wormhole theory.

_Reality:_ Jane was stuck in a fake relationship with an unreasonably handsome bad boy who, though smart enough to ace his tests, cheated on them—just because he could.

_Expectation:_ She would get asked to the winter formal with some ridiculously adorable and romantic antic like a treasure hunt ending at a park gazebo adorned with twinkle lights.

_Reality:_ Her pseudo-boyfriend muttering, “I suppose we have to attend this stupid dance,” as he dropped her off after school the day before yesterday.

_Expectation:_ Dress shopping would entail a quick trip to the mall where she would snag the first ball gown (within her admittedly very modest budget) that caught her eye and be done with it.

_Reality:_ She was currently being dragged from store to store to store by Darcy who was apparently competing in the prelims for the Shopping Olympics.

Jane really should have known better. Darcy was, after all, the offspring of a wealthy business tycoon (think Donald Trump without the bad comb-over) and a former supermodel. The girl had been groomed since birth to do in-depth comparative analyses of Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein—all funded by Daddy’s credit card.

“This one, and this one, aaand…” Darcy swept through the labyrinth of clothing racks in Saks Fifth Avenue, picking gowns seemingly at random without a glance at the price tags. “Yep, this one, too.” She dumped her selections into Jane’s arms and made a gesture toward the fitting rooms.

“I can’t afford any of these!” Jane hissed as she scrambled after her friend. She and Uncle Erik weren’t exactly poor, not with his salary as a tenured professor at Harvard, but the tuition for her school, their annual summer trips to CERN, and her college savings plan took a big chunk out of their finances.

“Oh, it’ll be fine,” Darcy said in an airy voice. (She really was in her element here.) “I can help you out.”

Jane scowled at her.

“Or we can hit the clearance racks at Lord & Taylor,” Darcy amended with a dramatic eye roll. She shoved Jane into a fitting room. “Now, get in there and make yourself pretty.”

Jane obeyed, grumbling under her breath about money wasted on a dress she was only going to wear once. (And for a guy she didn’t even—okay, maybe she liked him a little bit in that “annoying but endearing relative” kind of way. That thought was followed by another about kissing cousins, and her face went crimson.)

“Blah, blah, blah,” Darcy said on the other side of the door. “Less complaining, more changing.”

Jane would enjoy this way more if every dress she tried on didn’t make her look like a twelve-year-old raiding her mom’s wardrobe to play dress-up. Every gown hung too loose and too long on her petite frame. It had been the same in the other stores. Ugh. This was stupid.

And Darcy was getting a custom-made dress from one of her mom’s designer friends. So unfair.

Jane slipped back into her jeans and t-shirt and exited the room with an armful of rejects which she foisted on Darcy. “They don’t fit.” She didn’t mean to sound whiny. She was too pragmatic to be upset that she wasn’t built like Darcy with all the right curves in all the right places or tall and all Victoria Secret Model like Lorelei. Unfortunately, her emotions did not get the memo. She was not going to cry over this. She was _not_.

“Wait!” Darcy said, pushing her back into the room. “I saw a dress, and I think it might be perfect. Just one more and then I promise we’ll go to Cold Stone and gorge ourselves on ice cream.”

Jane sighed and dropped to the cushioned bench in defeat. She should have just gone to Express or Banana Republic—without her fashionista-in-training sidekick. It would have been exponentially less depressing.

“Okay, I know you probably won’t think it’s your style,” Darcy said when she returned with this so-called perfect dress, “and seriously don’t worry about the length because I can get my tailor to do you a solid.” She handed Jane the garment with a hopeful expression. “Give it a try.”

“Whatever.”

Jane closed the door and held up the dress. Darcy was right; this was so not her style. It was too chic with a jeweled halter collar and yards of dark dusty Kelly green chiffon cascading down the front in layers, kind of like one of the gorgeous toga gown thingies from ancient Greece. Jane was tempted to check the price tag but decided against it. What was the point? It wasn’t going to work, just like the others hadn’t.

She slipped the gown over her head (the fabric was sinfully soft) and managed to get the zipper up without having to do a complete contortion act. With a deep breath, she turned to the mirror, ready for another failure.

“Oh, my god.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Darcy squealed outside. “Come out and show me!”

Jane didn’t move; she couldn’t take her eyes off her reflection. The dress pulled in at her waist at just the right spot, making her body appear less pre-pubescent boy and more traditionally feminine. She looked willowy, elegant. Gone was the mousey wannabe scientist, replaced by sophisticated young woman.

Jane had heard stories (which she thought were completely bogus) about the magic of finding the right dress. This was what they were talking about. This moment. It was amazing.

“Jaaaa-_aaaaane_!” The pout was evident in Darcy’s voice. “Come on! I wanna see!”

Jane laughed a sort of giddy, nervous, excited laugh as she stepped out. “Ta-da!”

Darcy gaped at her. “I _knew_ it! This is the one!” She ushered Jane toward the trio of mirrors at the end of the hall and pulled her hair back from her neck. “I’m thinking strappy metallic heels.”

Jane barely had a chance to admire her newly svelte figure before one of the other fitting room doors banged open, startling both girls.

“Tell me, ladies,” said an all-too-familiar British baritone, “does this dress make me look fat?”

“Seriously, Loki?” Jane whipped around, ready to let him have it over breaking commandment number two (Thou shalt not stalk Jane), but her diatribe stuck in her throat when her gaze landed on him.

He was wearing a dress. Like actually _wearing_ it, long legs exposed beneath the too-short hem of a shiny black cocktail dress that looked more like a slip than a gown. Hip jutted to the side, he posed as though he was in the middle of a Vogue photoshoot.

“So,” Darcy said, browse raised, “I’m guessing you’re pretty secure in your masculinity.”

He brushed non-existent hair off of his bare shoulders with the panache of starlet on TMZ. “Obviously.”

A dam broke inside of Jane. She laughed—no, guffawed. The whole nine yards: doubled-over, fist pounding against her thigh, belly ache, and tears. She should have been angry with him for intruding on her time with Darcy, but this was just so…so _absurd_. So Loki. And these stupid, irritating antics of his were becoming weirdly endearing.

He beamed at her with a toothy grin that was devoid of its typical sarcasm, and her laughter died off as her stomach started to perform extreme gymnastics. His smile dipped, transforming into a smirk—but for a millisecond there was something in his gaze that looked disturbingly like genuine affection. Jane suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“Well,” he said, breaking the sudden tension between them. “Let’s see it, then.” He spun a finger, indicating for Jane to show him her gown.

Darcy practically leapt in front of her. “Dude, no!” she exclaimed. “It’s, like, bad luck to see her in her dress before the dance or something.”

Jane rolled her eyes, and Loki mirrored the expression. “I’m fairly certain that superstition is reserved for weddings,” he said. “Then again, that might be fun.”

He leaned to the side to get a better view of Jane and winked at her. “What do you say? Shall we find a priest and have a secret marriage against our families’ wishes? You are a bit too old, being sixteen, but I think we could work around that, don’t you?”

Jane shook her head with a laugh. “I think I’ll pass.”

He nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. Romeo never suited me anyway. He always seemed too feminine for my tastes.”

She canted a brow. “Says the guy wearing a dress.”

“A very manly dress.”

Dammit, when did he become so…_cool_? She did not want to be laughing at his dumb jokes like smitten school girl! And she so did not want to like him a lot more than a little—not when this ruse was going to come to an end in a few months.

“Now give us a look, Jane.” Loki motioned for Darcy to step aside.

Jane willed her heart to stop fluttering as his gaze followed a slow trail from her face down her neck, her chest, the waterfall of fabric spilling in pleated layers down her front. His tongue grazed his bottom lip, and her skin flushed at his visible appreciation.

“It’s not really a choice, is it?” he said, eyes meeting hers again. “You’ll wear that one.”

She pursed her lips, both flattered and annoyed by his decree. “Is that so, Your Highness?”

“Oh, yes.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “I demand it. You’ll make the others look like cheap call girls.”

“Hey!” Darcy protested.

Loki shrugged as if to say it was true and he wasn’t sorry for it. Jane cursed herself for liking him even more for thinking she would be the most beautiful girl at the dance. This was getting out of hand. She needed a distraction. Like checking the price tag of her gown.

_No. No. No way_. The decimal point had to be in the wrong place. Nearly eleven hundred dollars? Jane’s stomach dropped. She had never wanted anything she could not have before (aside from wishing her parents were still alive), and it hurt. _Stop it, Jane. It’s just a stupid dress. It’s not the end of the world_.  
It felt like it, though.

Someone’s phone went off—Loki’s from The Prodigy ringtone. (Jane thought it was the most aggravating song in the universe, which was probably the point.) He retrieved it from his fitting room and frowned at the screen.

“Sadly, I’ll have to cut our interlude short,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “It seems my brother didn’t appreciate being abandoned in the Menswear department. He’s such a baby.” Setting the phone down, he pulled off his dress. Right in front of them!

Jane averted her gaze, but not quickly enough to avoid an eyeful of his abs tapering in a V into the waistband his black boxer briefs. “Loki!”

“What?” She could hear his cheeky smile. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“You know that’s not true!” She glowered at him without thinking. Fortunately he was hitching his jeans up over his hips, though she had to make an effort to keep her gaze from wandering south of his stupid face.

“Close enough,” he said with a dimpled smile as he finished dressing. He picked up the gown and tossed it at Darcy. “Would you be a dear and take care of that? Thank you ever so much.”

With two strides, he was on Jane, tangling his fingers in her hair. “I’ll see you in the morning, yes?” Instead of the usual steamy lick-lop (which she was ashamed to admit she was starting to look forward to), he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead.

And then he was gone.

“That was—” Darcy began.

“I know.”

“He’s—”

“Totally.”

“Did you see his—?”

“Darcy!” Jane glared at her friend through her own furious blush.

“I’m just saying,” Darcy went on. “You’d be a very lucky girl if you were dating him for real.”

“I’m not listening to this!” Jane plugged her ears and la-la’d as she backed back into the fitting room.

She sighed as she unzipped her gown. No, not hers. It was about nine hundred dollars too expensive to be hers. She would just have to go to the dance as a cheap call girl like everyone else.

Once dressed and outside, she showed Darcy the price tag before her friend could start prattling about matching accessories.

“That sucks,” Darcy muttered. “Maybe I could get Antonio to whip up a knock-off for you.”

Jane gave her a flat look. “In a week? No, don’t worry about it.”

Darcy opened her mouth, probably to make another suggestion, but seemed to think better of it. “Cold Stone?”

Jane nodded. Ice cream, definitely. She hung the dress on the little rack for returns, fingering the supple fabric before reluctantly letting go. Lots of ice cream.

The food court was relatively empty when they arrived—much to Jane’s relief (she wanted to wallow in private). They found a table after paying for their treat (Darcy went with vanilla and peaches slathered with both caramel syrup and hot fudge; Jane stuck with the old standby of chocolate covered in chocolate with chocolate sprinkles on top).

“I’m sorry about the dress,” Darcy said, giving Jane a sad smile.

Jane waved a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll find something else.”

“Loki will be disappointed.” Darcy waggled her eyebrows.

Jane laughed. He probably wouldn’t care. “He’ll live.”

“Explain this whole thing you have with him again.” Darcy took a bite of her ice cream and continued, “I mean, I know it’s supposed to be fake, even if I don’t know why—”

“Me neither.”

“And granted, you _do_ look like you’d rather murder him than kiss him most of the time.” Darcy gestured with her spoon. “But sometimes, man, it looks like you actually do like each other—for realsies.”

Jane scoffed at the notion—because it hit a little too close to home. “There’s nothing going on.”

“_Right_,” Darcy said with disbelief.

“It’s true!” It wasn’t, though—not entirely. “Maybe we’re getting used to each other, but that’s it.” And if Jane told herself that enough, maybe she could squelch these new twitterpated feelings for him.

Luckily, Darcy had the attention span of a gnat, and before she could argue further, something behind Jane caught her attention. “Hey, there’s Sif,” she said. “And she’s coming over here. Weird.”

Jane frowned. She only crossed paths with the girl when they were thrown together at Hal’s by virtue of Loki and Thor—and even then, they didn’t really talk. Sif pretty much despised Loki (the feeling seemed to be mutual), and Jane could only imagine what she thought of the girl who would be dumb enough to date him.

Sif was clearly uncomfortable as she approached the other two with a garment bag over her arm. “Hi.”

Both Jane and Darcy greeted her in return, then…nothing. Well, wasn’t this just natural and not awkward at all? Darcy glanced at Jane with a question in her eyes. Jane gave her a bare shake of her head in reply. She had no idea what was going on.

“So,” Sif said, appearing to search for some kind of small talk, “shopping for the formal?”

“Yep,” Darcy answered.

“Me, too.” Sif forced a smile and lifted her arm to show the bag. Another strained silence followed.

Jane cleared her throat, figuring she’d better put everyone out of their misery. “Well, it was nice to—”

“Jane,” Sif spoke over her. “Can I have a word?” She looked at Darcy and added, “In private?”

“Oh, right.” Darcy grabbed her ice cream and stood. “I think I hear Gucci calling my name. I’ll just—” she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, “—go do that.”

Sif took Darcy’s seat after she left. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I’ll be brief.”

“Okay.” Jane couldn’t begin to fathom what Sif would want to share with her. They certainly weren’t going to swap boyfriend stories.

“You seem like a nice girl,” Sif said, dropping her voice as if the people three tables away might accidentally overhear, “and there are some things I know that I think you should too. But I need your word that you’ll keep this under the strictest confidence.”

Jane nodded for her to go on, though her gut twisted just a little bit. Whatever Sif had to say, it wasn’t going to be all rainbows and lollipops.

“It’s about Loki.”

Yep, this definitely wasn’t going to be a nice little happy chat. “What about him?” Jane really, really didn’t want to know.

“Has he,” Sif asked, her words quiet and halting, “ever mentioned Sigyn?”

Jane swallowed the irrational lump of jealousy over a name of a female someone who might have been important to Loki. “No.”

“I thought so.” Sif nodded. “The family doesn’t talk about her, but I think… I think you need to know.”

Jane waited for her to go on, heart pounding.

Sif sucked in a deep breath. “Before the Odinsons relocated to the States, Loki got a girl pregnant. The families only found out when she ran away. She was found at an abortion center in Sweden.” Her brows furrowed as though she regretted having to pass along the information. “Loki gave her the money for the one-way ticket and for lodging.”

Jane’s hand went to her mouth. She didn’t want to believe it—that he would send a girl to another country to avoid responsibility. He could be a jerk, but he couldn’t be _that_ cruel.

Could he?

“There’s more,” Sif said.

Jane stared at her, the ice cream in her stomach turning sour. “More?”

“Sigyn didn’t go through with the abortion,” Sif said. “She had the baby recently and gave it up for adoption.”

The air in the food court seemed to turn thick, unbreathable, and Jane wanted to run outside, away from these horrible revelations about the boy she was starting to fall for. He was a father—to some child he didn’t want. He slept with a girl and left her to deal with the consequences by herself.

This thing he had with Jane was pretend. In fact, he seemed to be getting less demonstrative as time went on—as if he was growing bored with the game. She probably wasn’t in any danger of becoming another victim, but she felt betrayed all the same.

“Thank you for telling me,” Jane said when she managed to find her voice again.

“I am sorry.” There was sincerity in Sif’s tone, not triumph, and Jane knew she hadn’t made the whole thing up just to spite her nemesis. “I wish it wasn’t true.”

Jane gave her a wan smile. “Me, too.” She rose from her chair. “I’d better go.”

She walked away, feeling the weight of a thousand questions constricting her chest. Had Loki and Sigyn been in a serious relationship? Or was it some party hook-up gone wrong?

Did it matter? Probably not.

She didn’t tell Darcy. But kept it all to herself as her best friend dragged her through several more stores before declaring their shopping trip over.

Later, when Jane arrived at home, she found a package on her doorstep. There was a note attached, written in an angular script that Jane knew all too well.

_You left this behind_.

Hands shaking, she opened the box. Inside, taped to layers of tissue paper, was a card with a QR code. She stared at it for several thrumming heartbeats before pulling out her phone. A video loaded—one that Loki had recorded of himself in a car, probably on the ride from Boston to Cambridge.

“I know you’re going to be pissed,” he began, “but you can’t take it back. It’s already been altered, and Saks doesn’t allow returns once you cut off six inches of fabric.”

“I’ll have you know that he made me wait nearly two hours for your dress to be tailored,” Thor complained good-naturedly in the background.

Loki looked off-camera. “Yes, your lot was truly hard, having your lunch bought for you at Five Napkin Burger. How many of those did you eat again?”

Thor laughed.

Loki turned back to the camera. “As I was saying, you could call this little gift of mine a restitution of sorts—for both past and future bad behavior—and a peace offering. We’re to have dinner with my family before the dance, and it might not be enjoyable.”

“Loki,” Thor warned.

Loki winked, ignoring his brother. “Wear the dress, Jane. You’ll take everyone’s breath away, and we’ll have a nice, quiet meal for once.”

“Don’t listen to him. Our family isn’t as terrible as he describes,” Thor protested.

Loki smirked and mouthed, “They are,” before blowing a kiss at the camera. “You have my undying affection forever and all that nonsense.”

“You’re such an ass,” Thor said with a chuckle.

“She likes it.” Loki’s lips stretched in a thousand-watt smile that made her heart lurch. “Don’t you, Jane?”

The screen went black.

She sagged on the porch steps. Had he been like this for Sigyn? Carefree. Fun. Had he bought her a dress that cost over a thousand dollars simply because he thought she looked stunning in it before dismissing her when she became inconvenient?

Jane needed to know. She needed to hear him say he would never do to her what he’d done to Sigyn. She needed to hear him express unending regret over his deplorable actions, to hear him swear that he had learned his lesson, that he tried to make it right, even after it was too late.

She needed to know, but she was afraid if she asked him, the truth would turn out to be as bleak as it seemed—that he was nothing more than a spoiled, entitled, rich brat who threw money at problems to make them go away.


	7. Show Me That You're Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the chapters I had originally written. Updates from here on out are likely to be slow and sporadic.
> 
> Also, if you want me to include a group of four words in future chapters, leave them in the comments. The more ridiculous, the better. I love a good challenge!
> 
> <strike>Finally, I apologize for possibly butchering Norwegian here. If you're a native speaker, let me know how to fix any mistakes I've made!</strike> HUGE THANK YOU TO HitMeWithAnAxeOneTime FOR HELPING ME GET THE NORWEGIAN RIGHT!!

So, it turned out that Hallmark didn’t make a card decorated with hearts and rainbows, and with the inscription, “Hey, I heard a rumor that you got a girl in the family way and sent her to Sweden to deal with it. Let’s talk about that.” Not that it would have made the topic any less uncomfortable, but at least it would have been a conversation starter.

Jane was a chicken. A total clucking chicken.

She had ample opportunity to get Loki’s side of the story during the next week, but she faltered each time she tried to screw up her courage. This would have been so much easier if she still hated him. (She tried and failed at that, too.) Then she could tell him to go do unmentionable things to himself and leave her alone. Those were the days.

She almost confronted him on Wednesday when he came over unannounced while Uncle Erik happened to be out helping fine tune the software upgrades at the planetarium.

“Did we have a study date that I forgot about?” she asked with crossed arms. They had become de facto lab partners in Physics for the rest of the term, thanks to both their success with Young’s experiment and the fact that they were a “power couple”—since they both had top grades. Some of the other kids had taken to calling them by a ludicrous amalgamation of their names: Lokane. Like they were the Brangelina of the school or something idiotic like it. Loki thought it was hilarious. Jane was not amused.

“Movie night,” Loki announced, holding up a pair of blu-rays. He had a paper sack cradled in his other arm, and before she could object, he stepped past her into the house.

“Hey, you can’t just—” She scrambled after him as he strode toward the family room. “We’re supposed to keep this—” she waved a hand helplessly, “—whatever it is to public appearances.” It was a totally lame excuse because this was so not the first time they’d spent time together outside of prying eyes— and not to study. But she hadn’t made sense of her conflicting feelings for him (extra conflicting after Sif’s bombshell), and it was hard enough to pretend at school that everything was the same as before.

Loki rolled his eyes. “That old song and dance again? And when I’ve come bearing gifts.” He sighed dramatically as he fished something out of the bag. “Now what am I to do with this?”

There were very few things Jane loved in this life with a kind of crippling passion where she lost all rationality: Uncle Erik, science (particularly physics), and Mexican Style Cinn-Chili chocolate bars from Olive and Sinclair Chocolate Co. And Loki was dangling the last one from his hand with a big, fat grin on his stupid face.

How did he—

Darcy. Ugh. Jane’s best friend was such a traitor.

“Fine,” Jane said, licking her lips (dammit, she hated being so weak in front of him). “You can stay.” She grabbed at the bar, but he swung it up out of her reach.

“I think a little gratitude is in order first.” He tapped a finger against his cheek.

Jane groaned, but she stepped forward anyway. Because Mexican Style Cinn-Chili chocolate bar. Still wearing that rude grin, Loki leaned down to accommodate her petite height (stupid beanpole boy bribing her with her own personal Kryptonite), and just as she placed a chaste kiss on his smooth skin (why did he have to smell so good?), he turned his head. Jane leapt back when her lips met his.

“Seriously!?” She scrubbed at her mouth. It was just a peck—nothing compared to the occasional show they put on at school or Hal’s—but things were different. She liked him, and she was scared to like him because this was all supposed to be fake. And because of Sigyn.

Loki, oblivious to her inner turmoil, was bent over with laughter. She snatched the candy from him with a “Jerk!” and settled on the couch. “I’m gonna kick you out if you keep this up.”

“I’m shaking with fear.” He unloaded the rest of the goodies—another chocolate bar (that better be hers, too), a bunch of Reese’s, a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and a six pack of ginger ale in old-fashion glass bottles. He screwed the lid off of one of them and passed it over to her.

“So, what new torture are you subjecting me to?” she asked as she tore open her chocolate. Slow down, girl. Nibble so it lasts longer. (But it’s so _good._)

“I’ll have you know that I chose a film specifically for you.” He held up a copy of _Amélie_. “Some silly foreign thing that I will suffer through for your sake. My only consolation is that it’s French, and therefore, there will likely be nudity.”

She flung one of the throw pillows at him which he dodged easily. “Behave,” she warned, though she almost laughed. Almost. And the movie he picked for her was surprisingly thoughtful. She didn’t know how to react when he got weird like this.

Except, this was Loki, and there was always a catch.  
“And the other one?” she asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

“Only the best cult horror film ever to grace the silver screen.” He displayed the other blu-ray with a brilliant smile like he was a hostess on a game show. “_Hysterical_. Mine first.”

The movie was bad. So, _so_ bad. But bad in all the right ways. By the time they reached the Zomboogie, she was laughing so hard, she couldn’t breathe. It took another half hour after the movie before she was able to go for ten seconds without breaking down again. (Loki made it harder by quoting some of the best lines like “Would you still love me if I had _hideous_ eyebrows?” while waggling his.)

He unfolded himself from the couch and put the next disc in. “And now for subtitles,” he said with a sigh.

“And nudity,” Jane quipped, though her face flushed a little to joke about something so…yeah, _that_. With the guy who was pretending to be her boyfriend.

He went rigid, his face falling slack as he said in a monotone voice, “What difference does it make?”

She dissolved in a fit of giggles again over the _Hysterical_ reference, and then sobered immediately when he stretched out on the couch with his head in her lap. Her heart rate went from a steady stroll to world championship sprinting. It was so unfair that he had this effect on her when he could possibly be the shameless bastard she originally thought he was.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, proud that she sounded stern in spite of the mild freak out attack she was currently having.

“Making myself comfortable,” he said with a wink before turning to face the television.

“Loki—”

“Hush.” He pressed a hand over her mouth without looking back at her. “The movie’s starting.” He pulled her arm against his side and laced his fingers with hers, and she decided not to argue. Mostly because everything inside of her had short-circuited.

She didn’t get much out of the first twenty minutes of the film, between his thumb caressing her forefinger and her fear that all of this would lead to Very Bad Things. Not that she would ever do what Sigyn apparently had done, but just that this nice little bubble of something between them was going to shatter.

“Loki?” she asked in a near whisper. Starting this conversation was terrifying, but not knowing was worse.

“Mm?” He gave her hand a brief squeeze, and she wavered. Wouldn’t it be easier to pretend that she didn’t know what she knew and let the chips fall where they may?

Probably not.

“I heard something,” she began with the tiniest hint of a quiver in her voice, “about you. And I kinda need to know if it’s true.”

He didn’t reply—which made this even more awkward.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

No response.

“Loki?”

Nothing.

She bent over him to get a better look at his face, and yep, he was asleep. Of course. _Of course_ when she finally stopped being a coward about this, he would conk out on her. Literally. The universe was laughing at her.

She left him undisturbed, though she watched him more than she did the movie. Because she’d never seen him so relaxed before. Everything about him was so…calculated. Yeah, that was the word. The closest unbridled emotion other than mischief (which was not really an emotion) she’d ever seen him display was when one of Marcus’ friends told him to leave Loki alone out of fear that Thor would intervene.

She wondered when he had become like this, cunning and controlled. She’d suspect his family, as he implied that night he took her toilet papering, except Thor seemed so normal and happy. Loki was a riddle wrapped in mystery, surrounded by an enigma—or however that Winston Churchill quote went.

The credits began rolling; Jane had missed the ending which was kind of a bummer because she actually had wanted to see this movie. Oh, well. Another time.

“Loki?” She gave him a gentle shake.

He made a muffled noise of complaint and snuggled deeper into her thighs. She ignored the responding heat rising in her cheeks (this was way more intimate than his open-mouthed, wet kisses when other people were around), and she shook him again. Harder.

“Loki, wake up!”

He grumbled, rolled on his back, and opened one bleary eye. When he saw her, his face split in the most natural smile he’d ever given her, and it made her chest ache. Why, oh why, did Sif have to ruin everything with that stupid secret?

“You fell asleep,” Jane said.

Loki half-sat up and glanced at the television. “Damn. I missed the nudity.”

Jane shoved him off her lap. “You are the worst, you know that?” Her comment didn’t sound as disapproving as she intended.

“Oh, yes,” he said, flashing her another grin. He rose from the couch, pulling her up with him. “I regret nothing.”

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and her body went into full system overload again. His gaze dropped to her lips, and this was it. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him despite her “no practice make-out sessions in private” rule because this would be the real deal. And she wanted it, Sigyn or no Sigyn, even if she wasn’t quite ready for it.

She closed her eyes as he leaned forward. (It's happening. It’s happening!)

And apparently, it wasn’t.

He kissed her cheek.

“Goodnight, Jane,” he murmured before leaving her standing in the middle of the living room, dazed.

(And leaving her a mess of candy wrappers and empty bottles to clean up. Typical.)

Ugh, that boy!

* * *

Because she didn’t have to buy a dress, Jane had money to splurge on getting her hair and make-up done with her best friend on the day of the formal. She let Darcy’s mom dictate her look; Jane was never really good at this kind of girly stuff.

In moments like this, she wondered what it would have been like to have her mother around instead of an absent-minded (but loveable) godfather. Jane didn’t know much about her parents except what Uncle Erik had told her, and he tended to stick to details on their research or anecdotes from her father’s time as a professor. Her own memories of them were blurry like an old photograph; she’d only been five years old when they died. Aside from Uncle Erik, project journals and recordings were the only glimpses she had of them, and they didn’t exactly tell her if her mother would have been giddy about Jane’s first formal or if her father would have grilled her date.

“Jane?” Darcy asked, concerned. “You don’t like it?”

Jane glanced in the mirror. The stylist had curled her hair in soft waves, then pulled it all back in a loose, messy up-do with wisps artfully falling at the nape of her neck. The eye make-up was much darker than she would have done (mascara and lip gloss were the extent of her glamor skills). She looked so different—almost grown up.

“No, I like it,” she said. “I like it a lot.”

Darcy grinned. “You’re going to knock Loki’s socks off.”

Jane laughed, though the idea made her stomach flutter with a queasy kind of anticipation. There were too many variables when it came to Loki, and she couldn’t decipher the equation to make them all fit properly (and she didn’t know if she’d like the final result).

“You’re one to talk,” she deflected as she gave Darcy a pointed look (the girl was absolutely gorgeous). “Ian won’t be able to function when he sees you.”

Darcy cringed. “I’m not going with Ian.”

“What?” Jane’s mouth dropped open. Darcy and Ian weren’t exactly a couple, but they weren’t exactly not, either.

“Someone else asked me first.” Darcy shrugged as if it were no big deal.

Jane couldn’t believe her ears. “Who?”

Darcy’s face took on a red hue. “Fandral,” she said in a small voice.

If Jane was shocked before, she was positively bowled over now. “Fandral? Fandral, the senior on the football team, the school’s biggest player, and one of Thor’s best friends—_that_ Fandral?”

“Yes, that Fandral.” Darcy rolled her eyes. “Don’t have a heart attack, Jane. Some of us can land hot dudes with British accents, too.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jane stammered, face burning with shame for unintentionally insulting her best friend. “It’s just… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Plausible deniability? In case Ian asked you why I turned him down.” Darcy gave her a tentative smile. “And I sort of didn’t want to jinx it. I’m so nervous, Jane. Fandral’s, like, really, _really_ hot and funny, and he could have asked any girl, but he asked me. I don’t even know why.”

Jane nodded. The part about Fandral being able to ask any girl was true enough. He was handsome and hilarious and easy to be around—which was exactly why he always had his pick. While he always seemed respectful enough, despite being an unrepentant flirt, he never, ever dated anyone seriously. He liked have fun and the periodic hook-up. (“I love the ladies,” he’d told Jane once when they were all at Hal’s, “and the ladies love me. I’m never opposed to any of them showing me precisely how much they enjoy my company.”)

“I’m happy for you,” she said to Darcy. “Just…be careful, okay?”

Darcy pulled a canister of pepper spray out of her purse. “Way ahead of you.” She shoved it back in the bag. “I don’t think he would actually force himself on me, though.”

“Probably not,” Jane agreed. She was more worried about Fandral breaking Darcy’s heart.

Mrs. Lewis declared their looks complete—minus their gowns and shoes—and Darcy gave Jane a hug before they parted ways. “Knock ‘em dead,” she said.

Jane wished they were going to the dance together in a big group, that they were doing the clichéd things of a rented limo and bringing tablecloths and flowers to a fast food joint. Having dinner with Loki’s family made her feel like Eliza Doolittle pretending to be sophisticated while at the horse races.

She was putting on her earrings when the doorbell rang, and every nerve in her body suddenly crackled with anxiety. She draped the faux-fur shrug Darcy had lent her over her arm and headed to the stairs.

_Here we go_.

Voices drifted up from the floor below, but Jane couldn’t make out what they were saying until she was halfway down the staircase. Uncle Erik told Loki to have her home by one a.m., and Loki was in the middle of saying something about being a perfect gentleman when his gaze landed on her.

His mouth stretched in a smile that made her legs unsteady. (The heels were already a huge challenge.) He stepped forward and offered her a hand as she reached the final few steps. “Best investment I’ve ever made,” he said. “Lorelei can eat her heart out.” 

Curse him for making her all tingly with comments like that. (She so wouldn’t mind if she made Lorelei jealous.) “You clean up okay, yourself,” she said. More than okay. Loki was definitely rocking that tux.

“Jane,” Uncle Erik said, sounding a little flummoxed. “You look… Wow.”

She was seriously going to combust from blushing this hard. “Thanks.”

Uncle Erik snapped a few photographs before Loki ushered her to his car, and Jane’s adrenaline shot back up again. She wasn’t sure was going to be able to eat a bite of food.

“Are you ready for this?” Loki asked as he drove to his house. (Jane hadn’t been there since the fateful party.)

She gave him a shaky laugh. “Not really,” she answered honestly. “Is there anything I should know?”

He considered her question with a furrowed brow. “Mum’s absolutely delightful,” he said after a beat. “Dad’s an utter ass.”

“Must be where you get it from.” She meant it as a joke, but it clearly missed the mark by the way the muscles in his jaw clenched.

“I’m _nothing_ like him.”

Okay, touchy subject. Note to self: avoid all comparisons between father and son in the future (at least, in said son’s presence). She muttered an apology; he shrugged in return. The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Loki was tense, no doubt about it, and she tried to ignore the worry that it had something to do with her—specifically her impending introduction to his parents. What if she used the wrong fork for the salad? What if she laughed at something that wasn’t supposed to be funny? What if she accidentally offended them because her mouth decided to work independently from her brain (which happened a lot more than she cared to admit)?

_Whatifwhatifwhatif_…

By the time Loki pulled into long driveway, Jane had practically worked herself to the point of puking. (That would be a super great way to start things off, wouldn’t it?)

Loki parked among a line of other vehicles and let out a big sigh. “This ought to be interesting,” he said with a sardonic expression. So much for words of comfort from her (sort of) boyfriend. (Yeah. Like he would ever.)

A beautiful woman, tall and willowy, greeted them at the front door and introduced herself as Frigga, the boys’ mother. She clasped Jane’s hands and held them apart as she examined her. “My sons have not done you justice, Jane Foster,” she said. “You’re a stunning young woman.”

And the blush was back. “It’s all an illusion,” Jane demurred. “The hair, the make-up, the dress.” She cast a glance at Loki at the last word. Did his mother know he paid for it? Eleven hundred dollars had to be a lot of money, even for the ridiculously wealthy.

Frigga laughed, and it was a magical sound. (Loki was so right about his mother.) “Oh, my dear, it’s not an illusion.” She linked her arm with Jane’s. “Come in. Dinner is nearly ready.”

As she swept them through house, she asked Jane questions about school, about her aspirations, and little things like her favorite color (blue). Loki followed wordlessly behind as if he was as dazzled by his mother as Jane was.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

Frigga led them to an ornate dining room (Jane had a vague memory of the long mahogany table being the center of the beer pong tournament) where Thor and Sif were standing beside their high-back chairs.

Frigga went through the perfunctory introductions, and Jane avoided Sif’s gaze. This situation was uncomfortable enough without Sif’s judgment—she had to be wondering why Jane was still with Loki after knowing what he’d done.

Odin Borson (not Odinson as Frigga corrected Jane earlier—something about an old Scandinavian tradition) joined them shortly after everyone was settled. He was, quite frankly, scary—with that severe expression on his face as he scrutinized the teenagers with his one good eye (the other was hidden behind a silver patch). Jane could see his resemblance to Thor with his thicker build and square jaw, but where Thor was jovial, his father seemed like he hadn’t laughed in years.

Odin raised a hand and snapped his fingers, and the dining room became a bustle of activity as servants brought out bowls of soup and poured drinks for the dinner guests—wine for the adults, sparkling cider for the underaged.

Frigga introduced Jane and Sif to her husband, and Jane wished she could make herself as small as possible when his flinty gaze swept over her.

“Hvem er hennes foreldre?” he asked in a gruff voice.

Next to Jane, Loki’s entire body seemed to become taut like a coiled spring, and her gut told her that his father’s simple question was a spark struck precariously close to a powder keg.

_Who are her parents?_

Here was the funny thing about being orphaned so young and raised by a Norwegian godfather: Jane knew the language—well enough to understand it, even if she could only speak a halting approximation of it.

Frigga answered her husband, explained Jane’s background, but from the frown drawing deep lines in her husband’s face, it was apparent that he thought Loki had brought home the rabble of humanity to dine at their mansion.

He made a noise of derision. “Jeg burde ikke ha forventet mindre.” _I should have expected no less_.

Loki turned to his father, the movement languid and precise—just like his tone as he addressed him with a raised brow. “Hva mener du med det?”

“Loki—” Thor interjected, but Loki waved him off.

“No, brother. I want to hear what our illustrious father has to say.” He gave Odin a brittle smile and repeated the question in clipped staccato. “Hva er det det skal bety, far?”

_What’s that supposed to mean, Father?_

The stillness in the heartbeats that followed was acute, like the elongated second before a catastrophe strikes—when everyone comes to the collective conclusion that nothing can be done to prevent it, no matter how badly they want to. Frigga placed a hand on Odin’s arm, but he ignored her unspoken warning.

Instead he shook his head and, with disdain, gave Loki the answer he asked for. “Du samler på bortkomne barn og tillater dem å ødelegge deg.” The words came too fast, too biting for Jane to catch them all. (Something about collecting stray children.) 

Thor began to rise out of his chair. “Father—”

Odin growled over him, glared at Thor until he retook his seat, and then his attention was back on his youngest. “Si meg, sønn, er dette din nye Sigyn?”

Jane’s hand went to her chest, as if she could somehow ease the sudden constriction of her airways. Because Odin’s scornful question cut right to the heart of her own fears. In her periphery, Sif was staring at her with a canted brow. “I told you,” her look said.

_Is this your new Sigyn?_

Loki’s false calm cracked as he slammed a fist on the table, rattling dishes and silverware as he rose. “Ikke snakk om henne, noensinne!” he yelled, veins protruding in his neck. “_Du vet ingenting!_”

“Jeg sier hva jeg behager i mitt eget hjem!” Odin returned in kind.

Loki sobered abruptly with an unsettling smile. “Quite right, Father.” He grasped Jane’s hand and pulled her up with him. “Mother, I’m sure dinner is lovely,” he said to Frigga, “but I can’t seem to stomach the company any longer.”

His mother sighed as if this turn of events was not entirely unexpected. “Loki, please.”

He offered her a formal bow and said, “Good evening,” before dragging Jane out of the room, leaving his parents to argue in their wake.

“Wait,” she protested as he led her to his car. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here,” he said, swinging the passenger door open for her. “Get in.”

They drove for what seemed like forever in strained silence, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. She'd seen him angry once before, but not like this. This was less rage and more frustration—maybe even pain. Like an exposed nerve.

"Loki," she began, surprised at how calm she felt, all things considered, "what just happened back there?"

He glanced at her. "A typical family dinner," he said. "Aren't yours just like it? No? Don't tell me you actually have cordial conversations where you're not accused of bringing shame to the family. How dull." His laughter was brutal and raw.

She stared at him, thorny ache taking up residence next to her heart just as it had the night they argued at the butte—when he let his mask slip enough to show her that there was something deeper festering inside of him than cruel pranks and sarcasm. Was it guilt over he’d done before coming to the States?

She inhaled a shaky breath and broached the subject she’d been avoiding all week. (Just rip it open like a bandaid.) “What happened with Sigyn?”

His mouth fell open, brows pulled down in shock. He gave her a side-long glance, and she thought she saw tears glinting in the rims of his eyes. “What?”

She licked her lips. “Sigyn,” she said. “The girl back home.”

His gaze darted between her and the road. “What do you know?” She didn’t miss the whisper of resignation in his voice.

“Your parents are still upset about it.” At his obvious confusion, she explained, “Uncle Erik is from Oslo. I’ve lived with him since I was in kindergarten.”

Loki made a noise that wasn’t exactly a laugh. “Aren’t you just full of surprises, Jane Foster?” he said. “It’s a pity you didn’t tell me that little secret sooner. We could have had so much fun speaking in tongues at school. Well, except in Thor’s presence. Or Sif’s.” His lip curled in a sneer when he said her name.

Speaking of his brother’s girlfriend… Jane swallowed another gulp of air; she might as well go for broke. “Sif is the one who told me about Sigyn.”

He worked his jaw, hands tightening on the steering wheel. Jane knew this expression; it was the same homicidal look he wore when he tried to beat the pulp out of Marcus. “Of course she would,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He jerked the car to the right, pulling off to the side of the road with screeching tires.

Before she could say anything, he was out of the car, slamming the door shut. He sat on the hood and ran a hand over his face.

Jane opened her door. “Loki?”

When he didn’t answer, she decided to join him. It was cold outside—too cold for the gauzy fabric of her gown, but she worried that he wouldn’t get back into the car without some prodding. He didn’t say anything as she did her best to climb up next to him. (The dress and heels weren’t conducive to scaling a chrome fender.)

She hugged herself, trying to keep warm. “Is it true?” Her question was almost lost in the dull roar of passing vehicles.

Loki snorted. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it kinda does,” she countered.

“Why?” he asked, turning to her—glaring at her. “Why do you care? I blackmail people into dating me, remember? Sounds exactly like the sort of callous bastard who would screw some girl and pay her off to get rid of the consequences.”

Her stomach churned with disgust at his remorseless confession. She opened her mouth to demand he take her home and then lose her number for good, but before she could express some choice words, a tiny pinprick of a light bulb went off in her mind.

He hadn’t actually answered her question.

And because she liked him against her will, she latched onto that thought. “Is it true?” she repeated.

“God, Jane.” He rolled his eyes. “Weren’t you _listening_?”

Still not an answer. “Is it true?”

He did that thing with his jaw that meant he was exasperated, but didn’t respond.

She wasn’t going to give up, though. “Is it true?”

“Stop it. Just st—”

“Is it true?” she asked, louder, not bothering to hide her frustration. (Because, dammit, she was freezing her butt off.) “Is it true? Was she your girlfriend? Or just some girl at a party? Did you get her pregnant? Did you send her to Sweden to deal with it?”

He pressed his hands over his ears, leapt off the hood of the car. “Shut up!”

She scrambled down after him. “No! You wanted a girlfriend, and guess what? You’ve got one.” She poked him in the chest. “Fake relationship or not, telling me whether or not you made a baby with your ex—or whatever she was—comes with the territory!”

“_IT’S NOT MY BABY!_” he yelled, his voice echoing off of the trees that lined the side of the road. Everything seemed to go deathly still as he inhaled in an attempt to calm himself. “It’s not my baby. Are you happy now?”

It was a start. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Did you take a test or—”

“Do you _ever_ quit?” He groaned, rubbing his palms over his eyes. “I never slept with her—not for lack of desire.”

“Then why—”

“She told them the baby was mine when they discovered her, and I didn’t bother to correct her story. It shouldn’t have surprised me how easily everyone believed it—my parents always thought her a bad influence,” he said, leaning back against the hood. “And before you pester me further, yes, I gave her the money.”

Jane tried to process everything. So much didn’t make sense, though. If he wasn’t the father, why did he let everyone believe he was? And why had he paid for her trip out of the country? She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until he answered.

“Because I loved her,” he said with a dry laugh. “I was trying to protect her.”

An infinitesimal bead of jealousy began to swell in Jane’s chest, but she stamped it down. This was so not the appropriate time for her burgeoning crush to rear its stupid head. “Protect her from who?”

Loki watched several cars pass before speaking. “The real father. Her mother’s fiancé.”

“_No_.” Jane clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how desperate Sigyn must have been. And they had found her. “Is she—?” Jane couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

He shook his head. “The last I heard, she was sent to a boarding school—a reform school, really. I suppose she’s safe enough now.”

Jane had wanted the truth, but she hadn’t realized that it would hurt so much. He carried the weight of someone else’s secret for months, allowing people to believe the worst about him. How many family dinners did he suffer through as his father cut him down for something he didn’t do? Good grief, no wonder he was messed up.

She hugged him because what else could she do after she found out her jerk of a fake boyfriend was actually capable of something so saintly? “I’m so sorry you’re stuck in this crappy situation,” she murmured into his chest.

“Oh, god,” he grumbled. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Foster.”

She squeezed tighter. He would just have to put up with her sympathy; she wasn’t letting go until he reciprocated. It took several misty breaths before he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. She would have been happy to remain like this for hours, except her entire body started shivering.

Loki released her, brushed a tear from her cheek (her make-up was probably ruined). “After all this excitement, a ball seems kind of anti-climactic.”

She laughed. “A little bit,” she agreed. “But this princess still wants to go.”

He took her hand in both of his, and with a hint of a smile, placed a kiss over her knuckles.

“As the lady wishes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**
> 
> Hvem er hennes foreldre? = Who are her parents?  
Jeg burde ikke ha forventet mindre. = I should have expected no less.  
Hva mener du med det? = What do you mean by that?  
Hva er det det skal bety, far? = What's that supposed to mean, Father?  
Du samler på bortkomne barn og tillater dem å ødelegge deg. = You collect stray children and allow them to destroy you.  
Si meg, sønn, er dette din nye Sigyn? = Tell me, son, is this your new Sigyn?  
Ikke snakk om henne, noensinne! Du vet ingenting! = Do not talk about her, ever! You know nothing!  
Jeg sier hva jeg behager i mitt eget hjem! = I'll say what I please in my own home!


End file.
